


The Journey Home

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alphabet series, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003), Depression, Disability, Gen, Parental Royed - Freeform, Post CoS, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 157,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: A series of interconnected oneshots, in which Ed tries to hate Roy, and Roy takes care of an injured, traumatized Ed after his return to Amestris. Or... attempts to.





	1. A is for Alphonse

**Author's Note:**

> Set five years post CoS and updates weekly. All comments welcome! :)

This time, when he returned, he didn't have to find out through a standard emergency telegram.

This time, he knew immediately, because this time Edward Elric had the decency to materialize out of thin air, drop out of the sky, and slam right into the carpet of his own living room.

Roy, one finger caught mid page-turn in his book, feet kicked up on his coffee table, slouched in a corner of his couch, gaped.

It was Ed, of course. The hair, even cut shorter, made it unmistakable. And if not the hair, then the automail was a dead giveaway. And really, even if he'd cut his hair all straight off and somehow picked up two flesh limbs on the other side, no one else that Roy knew would have had the _gall_ to vanish for five years, subsequently invite himself in at two in the morning, via a brilliant flash of alchemic light no less, and _all_ without so much as a hello.

Only Edward Elric.

It could only be him.

Roy simply continued to gape.

Unbelievable.

Literally, actually- he could not believe it.

Ed lay there on his side, slumped over his carpet like a half-dead, empty shell. He was gasping hard, huddled up and with wide eyes; he looked dazed but conscious, shaken but alive. No attention was being paid towards him, or even his surroundings at all- it was as if Ed wasn't even _aware_ he'd just materialized out of nowhere and broken into his home. He just curled up there, wheezing, and staring at nothing- and... oddly calm.

Yes, that was the word for it- calm, in a way that he couldn't understand.

But it did not matter, because Ed was _alive._

After several stunned seconds, during which Ed just slumped on the floor, ragged hair shielding his face from view, some tiny part of his mind finally kicked back on. The rest of him felt a million miles away, staring distant at the impossible sight with such shock he felt detached, disembodied- but the tiny part of Roy's mind that was still functioning smirked, finishing the page turn, and dragged the sly remark out past his dry throat before the rest of him had even remembered how to breathe. "I always _did_ know you'd find a way back, Fullmetal," and he smiled, "but when I said that, I really didn't mean right into my living room."

After that, the part of Roy's mind that was not a snarky little shit would've hopefully turned on. It would've dragged him to his feet to lift Ed upright and berate him on terrifying the living daylights out of him, shake him until he was sure he was one hundred percent okay, and then, surely hugged the life out of him, because, damn it, Roy _had_ always believed he'd make it back home somehow, but to finally see it like this-

There was no word for the sense of sheer relief he could feel growing inside of him, held at bay only by shock.

No word at all.

But, the rest of him never got that chance to act.

Because the moment the words had left his mouth, Ed's breath had caught.

His shaking form went still.

His human hand clenched, bunching the carpet fabric into a desperate fist.

Then, slowly, _agonizingly_ slow like it took all his strength and willpower to do it and not just close his eyes to never see again, he he looked up.

And just like that, any trace of calmness and peace was gone.

"No..."

Because in their place was now _horror._

At that pained, anguished wavering whisper, Roy found himself frozen, pinned to his couch with nothing more than that piercing stare. Slowly, in shock, Roy managed to shake it off, but his mind was still at a complete blank as he leaned forward, approaching him cautious inch by cautious inch. "...Ed-" he started hollowly, lifting a hand.

"N- _no..."_ Ed breathed again, staring at him like he was the devil himself. He jerked back off the floor, reeling unsteadily to sit and stare around the room and gasp like a fish on dry land. "No, no, what? _What-?"_ he was panting, shaking, "What am I- no! No, this isn't right, _no! Why did you send me here?! NO!"_

Snarky Little Shit Roy was immediately thrown into the backseat, and so, too, was Extremely Fucking Relieved Roy. He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, reaching for him without the foggiest idea what was happening except that something was very, very _wrong._

"Ed," he started, voice cracking.

" _I didn't want this, no! Fuck you, Truth, take me back! No, NO, TAKE ME BACK! **TAKE ME BACK!** "_

The wail was so loud and wretched it was nearly not even understandable. It was a bloodcurdling screech of suffering akin to a punch to the face, and Ed wasn't even _looking_ at him, he realized, pounding his human fist on the carpet, thrashing his head back and forth like he was caught in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. It could almost be called screaming, the words lurching from him, but screaming implied a sort of ferocity and strength that this shattered, destroyed Ed just utterly _lacked_. His automail wasn't even moving, so disturbingly limp a part of Roy wondered if he could even move it at all. His face was thin and gaunt, the whole of him soaked and dripping with blood that the dim light of his room had disguised, but now that he stood closer was unmistakable- and those young, broken, almost inhuman _sounds_ coming from him now...

Ed was alive.

Ed was home.

And, while part of him still reeled and struggled to understand even this, the rest of him knew: he was not okay.

Roy was on his knees beside him in an instant, reaching to hold him down. All he knew was that Ed needed help, and as unprepared as he was he was the only one there to give it. "Hey, hey, Ed, come on-" he began, then recoiled at trying to grip his arm. _What?_ It hadn't felt right- it had been just, so- _thin-_ "My god..."

Ed shook fiercely underneath him, dry heaving actual sobs and broken yells as he fought him off. He wasn't even close to being strong enough to manage it, but his desperation was so anguishing, so _miserable_ to see, Roy had to withdraw. Whatever had gone wrong, whatever the hell had even _happened,_ this wasn't something he could fix on his own. He wasn't enough for this, he wasn't even close to enough! Ed needed far more help than he could ever give.

"Ed, hang on. I'm calling an ambulance, just-"

" _No!"_

At first Roy thought it was just a response to what he'd said, but then he cried out again, tossing himself violently away to slam a fist to the floor again. "No, no, _no,_ take me back, _take me back! No! TRUTH! Fucking Truth, I know you can hear me, TAKE ME BACK!"_

Roy scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, thoroughly shaken to his core. He couldn't tear his eye away from the heartrending sight, chest squeezing painfully with each anguished yell. He didn't know what this was, but in that moment, witnessing Ed out of his mind with anguish, watching him try to throw himself about like a trapped, cornered animal, too upset to even cry...

It reminded him, horrifically so, of all those soldiers in Ishval.

Those soldiers he'd been just a hint jealous of at the time, because they'd shattered as completely as a fragile glass vase, been stamped with brands like _broken, unstable,_ and _weak,_ and then, just like that, swept neatly onto the next train home.

He swallowed.

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

"Ed," he gasped when he could speak again, part of him still begging to turn away from the devastating sight, "I..." God, what was he supposed to do? He couldn't- god, this wasn't something he could _ever_ fix. He simply wasn't enough. Reaching for him again with a shaking hand, Roy started to ask him just _where_ the one person was who _could_ fix this, just desperate to do anything that he could. "Ed, where's Alphon-"

The question died in his throat, forever incomplete.

Understanding hit.

Oh...

Oh... _god..._

Ed, at the beginning of his brother's name, had again gone perfectly still.

_Oh, god, no..._

Then, slowly, the boy turned his head back to look at him.

Roy choked.

" _YOU KILLED HIM!"_ he screamed, and lunged.


	2. B is for Blame

Ed fought him every step of the way.

Try to carefully lift him up, since it was patently obvious he couldn't so much as stand on his own? No, actually, that was _try to avoid a concussion_ as Ed kicked and flailed at him with all of his desperate, failing strength. Try to carry him to his couch, or his bed, or really anywhere that just wasn't in danger of Ed hitting his head on his hard coffee table? No, because Ed didn't want to be carried anywhere, Ed screeched bloody murder and tried to reach for his throat. Try to wrestle his shirt off, since Ed was being uncooperative as all fuck but was covered in blood and Roy had to _somehow_ find how injured he was? No, evidently, that was invitation to knee him in the stomach and make a run for it.

He got two feet before his automail knee buckled and sent him crashing to the floor.

"God damn it- _Fullmetal-"_ Roy gasped out as a growl, wheezing. He clutched at his stomach with a groan, lurching forwards on his knees to reach for him, staring in disbelief. Damn it, all he was trying to do was _help._ "Fullmetal, lie _still!"_

He finally managed to lock his hands around Ed's arms, pinning him to the carpet to let him thrash until he tired himself. At least, he figured, if Ed had this much strength in him still, he wasn't about to die of blood loss, and any injuries he did have could wait until he'd calm down, but...

Well, that plan's fatal flaw was that it was reliant on him calming down at all.

After all, Roy may not have been entirely sure what had happened- at all- but he had a very good guess.

He also had a very strong feeling that the one person who'd be able to calm Ed down right now was the one person who could never walk through that door again.

Swallowing tightly, Roy swiped a thumb through the wet blood clinging to Ed's shirt, starting to scrawl an array out of the kid's reach. He had a few misgivings about such drastic measures, but at this point, he really didn't see any other path he could take. Ed didn't seem strong enough to escape his grasp, but Roy knew not to take any chances, and with him fighting him like this, he didn't have any other choice.

He touched the array, and in one fell swoop, his carpet sprang up to bind the writhing boy to the floor in so many ropes he could barely even move.

Ed snarled. Ed thrashed. Ed screamed.

"Ed, _Ed,_ listen to me," Roy broke in with loud desperation, moving back now that his weight was not necessary to pin him down. "This is only until you calm down. I'll let you go as soon as you stop fighting, I promise! ...Ed?"

" _I hate you! You monster, YOU MONSTER, you killed him! BURN IN HELL!"_

Roy swallowed again, mouth dry, and sank to sit down across from him without another word.

With Ed restrained as he was, his struggles were almost as heartbreaking to watch as they were fruitless. Ed was _Ed,_ after all; he wasn't helpless or weak, not in any definition- but, this tied down, screaming, tortured figure before him? God, there was no word for him _other_ than helpless. He strained and shouted, sometimes screaming at him, sometimes just wordless cries of agony and misery, yanking away at his bonds like he didn't even realize what they were, kicking on the floor so weakly it was pathetic, thrashing back and forth with desperate howls of anguish...

Roy almost couldn't recognize him as Ed at all.

But, as weakened as he was, there was simply no way for him to get free- and Ed seemed to quickly understand that. There was no use in fighting him, no use in yelling, no use in any of it; this was no battle he could win, and Ed, with every enraged tug at soft restraints and helpless cry of agony, finally seemed to understand that.

And that helplessness in Ed was even more agonizing to witness as he slowly accepted defeat.

Because Ed was not one to give up. _Ed_ kept on fighting even with every odd against him and then some. Ed was not one to ever accept defeat.

This person before him, however, after barely a minute of being held down only with soft carpet, was now slumped, mute, tortured, and staring, and was as drained and dead as a corpse.

His eyes... that stare...

Oh, god, his eyes looked _dead._

"...Ed?" Roy ventured cautiously, voice breaking on the lump in his throat. God, this was wrong, this was so _wrong._ Nearly trembling now, he pushed himself another inch forward, straining in some sort of desperation to catch a glimpse of anything from him, anything like the person he was supposed to be, anything like _life_. The kid had turned his face away from him, with the rest of him pinned too securely to move, but even as he pulled away, all Roy could see of him was the automail, twitching uselessly against the carpet restraints, and his eyes.

Wide, haunted, and dead.

Roy swallowed again.

It took several seconds into the chilling silence for him to force himself to move. The restraints were only meant to be until he'd stopped fighting so violently, after all, and- well, he _had_ stopped fighting now. The fact that he'd looked so absent he could've been soulless, so absent that he honestly _preferred_ the way he'd been before, anything was better than this- this still, absent, half-dead thing, the very antithesis of everything that Ed was-

Maybe he'd get better when he released him. Maybe... _maybe..._

When Roy nervously touched the array again, making the bonds retract and holding his breath all in the same, Ed simply rolled onto his side, huddled up into a tiny ball, and buried in his face in his hands.

" _Al,"_ he moaned, voice muffled, _"Alph-ph-phonse..."_

He sounded like he was crying.

Next to him, Roy swallowed tightly, squeezing his eye shut for a moment and trying to regain control of himself. He had to pull himself together. He didn't have the luxury of just sitting here in shock; he had to _act._ This had to be handled, and Ed, very clearly, was in no condition to do it; that left only him. Clearing his throat, more to steel himself than anything else, Roy inched forward again, touching a careful hand to Ed's shoulder. Ed jerked but didn't even lift his head up, fingers still clutching at his hair and face. He could still hear faint sobs, gasped hoarsely against his hand, and his heart stuttered painfully to skip a beat. "Ed," he found himself whispering, "Ed? It's all right... it's okay, you're safe here. You- y-you-"

God, what was he _doing?_ What the hell did he think he was saying?! Al was dead. _Dead!_ There weren't any words he could say to fix this. There weren't any words for this at all!

The speech, pathetic and worthless and the failure that it was, lurched to die in his throat, leaving him sick at heart and still paralyzed with horror at just the sight before him. With a tense sigh, Roy pushed away his own misgivings, again reminding himself to just pull himself the fuck together, and cautiously began to shift him around, working an arm under his shoulders and trying to get another under his legs. Just get Ed off the floor, get him clean, treat his injuries; things would looks better when Ed wasn't in such bad shape. He could do that much, at least, couldn't he?. Oh, god, this was bad. This was really, _really_ bad. He took a breath, steeling himself for any lashing back, then stood, bringing Ed up with him-

But all the boy did was grip at his face harder and shake.

Roy was able to move quickly, fueled by panic just as much as urgency as he hurriedly brought the alchemist through his small house back to his bedroom, where his first aid kit and any medicine he had was stashed. He wasn't sure how much of it would do any good, but, in this state, he doubted bringing the kid to a hospital would accomplish anything except breaking what tenuous grip on reality he still had. As shaken and distraught as he already was, and remembering how much he'd hated hospitals before- he just didn't have it in him to force him to seeing a doctor. He just couldn't do that to him, not unless there was no other choice.

With only a second to say farewell to his sheets, Roy gently set Ed down on his bed- wincing, when his only response was to turn onto his side again, curling up even tighter, and moan into his hands. Anxiety twisted in his gut. He had never seen Ed like this before, and the sight nearly terrified him. Ed was supposed to be _indomitable._ Now, he was so beaten down he wouldn't even _look_ at him... well, time to put an end to that. Gulping, Roy firmly grasped at his metal wrist, trying to both unfurl him and not let his panic get the best of him. "Ed, you need to work with me here," he cajoled gently, again pulling at his arm. "You're hurt, you've got to let me see how badly."

When he finally managed to unlatch Ed's grip, he didn't think it was because Ed had let him- it was again just because he wasn't strong enough to fight him.

And something about that was intensely frightening.

Whatever was wrong with his automail, it allowed Roy to get Ed mostly under his control. The kid couldn't move it, and with Roy gently arranging it spread out on the bed, Ed just couldn't remained curled up any more... no matter how much he clearly wanted to. Roy hesitated for a moment, trying not to think about how disturbingly limp he was, or how he still covered his mouth with the one hand he could move and kept his head so severely turned away from him and eyes shut so tight it was like he couldn't stand to even see him. "I'm taking off your shirt," was all he said, was there really was _to_ say, even with the words trying to stick like syrup or sludge in his throat. "I need to see where you're hurt. Ed?"

He didn't know if the moan he got as an answer was even directed at him or not.

Hands shaking, Roy pulled at the thin cloth, trying to work it off Ed's unresisting form for almost a minute before he managed to dislodge Ed's hand enough to manage it. With an almost annoyed, impatient sigh, he roughly yanked at it, slipping it over Ed's head to let it drop to the floor behind him-

Then choked on a horrified gasp.

For a heartbeat, all he could focus on was the array. Ed had painted it on his chest in blood, tendrils stretching from his neck to his waist, and it... god, what _was_ it? He may have given up studying alchemy years ago, but he still knew his basics and then some, and this- he didn't recognize a single symbol. What the hell was it _for?_ Roy anxiously touched a finger to it, wiping away some of the blood, and gulped when it revealed no injury underneath. If none of the blood was his, then... it had to be...

Another shaking swipe at the blood, and he froze again- but this time, for an entirely different reason.

The blood and the array had attracted his attention away at first, letting him focus on the surface. But now, he looked underneath it, and actually took in the alchemist's form. Or, what was left of it.

He looked like he was about to starve to death.

Roy could count each and every one of his ribs, trace his collarbones and the bones of his face with his eyes alone. His cheeks were hollow and gaunt, his hand so thin the bones stuck out in ridges, the dips of his hip bones to the point he was shocked the kid had even been able to stand. It didn't look like this was just the result of not having eaten in a week; this looked like _months_ of bare survival.

It threw him back to Ishval again, with all the force of a stomach churning blow. Whenever he'd been sent out to deal with refugees hiding out in already destroyed cities or those trying to make a run for it across the desert... where there had been so little to eat, they'd taken to working leather boots off dead Amestrian soldiers and devouring them.

Even those kids had not looked this bad.

He hadn't even known a man could be this malnourished and still be alive.

In a slow, sinking sense of disbelief and disgust, Roy gingerly lifted him up, holding him with a shaking cautiousness because god, he looked so fragile just touching him the wrong way would shatter him. The only reason he hadn't noticed until now was the automail; without it, Ed would surely have been as light as a child. It was a miracle he was strong enough to even lift the metal limbs, no _wonder_ he could barely move them-

It was in the process of gently turning him over to check his back, however, that Roy's horror froze, and then was catapulted straight into disgusted rage.

His initial fears of finding injury were, thankfully, proven wrong. There were a few scrapes and bruises, and some more blood stains, but it wasn't anything that needed more than an icepack. But underneath the grime, and past the knobby spine so visible his stomach churned-

Scars.

Distinctive ones.

Ed had been _whipped._

His hands, previously carefully gentle, abruptly tightened so greatly his nails scratched into his skin, and Roy saw red.

 _Who_ the _fuck..._

"Ed," he hissed through gritted teeth, yanking his hand back only with great effort to curl it into a shaking fist against the sheets. Even that much, he only managed because he didn't want to hurt him. Who the fucking hell had done this? Who would dare to do _this_ to him? He was going to make them pay with their god damn blood. "Ed, I-"

In the middle of the swear for vengeance, Ed strained away from him, pulling the weak inches that was all he could manage, and sobbed his brother's name in a choked, whispered moan.

Roy shut his eye, forcing out a steadying breath.

Now was not the time. Now was not the time. Ed was hurt. Ed was scared. Ed's brother had just _died._ Now was _not_ the time for him to lose control.

After several meant to be calming breaths, when he felt like he could speak and act without betraying the sickened fury that swept through him from head to toe, Roy turned to him again. He looked over the horrible scars on his back, then the terrifying state of him; the exposed ribs, the visible spine, the gaunt, hollowed out cheeks and eyes.

God, this was wrong.

This was gutwrenchingly _wrong._

"Ed..." he found himself moaning in horror, touching his cold stomach again only to nearly recoil at the sensation. "Ed, what- my _god..."_

How could this have happened?

"I killed..." Ed choked out, so soft it was barely audible at all but even in that quiet whisper, screaming anguish. "I killed them. I... I killed them all..."

He went still.

"...Ed?"

The kid shook his head, but wasn't even looking at him, sightless, terrified eyes still glazed over and staring into the mattress. Desperate tears overspilled and ran over, pooling down hollow cheeks with such little resistance he doubted Ed even realized he was crying. "I killed them all... I killed him. I killed him... I... I _killed..._ "

"Ed..." Trembling still, Roy reached a hand forward to his shoulder, his voice sounding almost violent as it violated the oppressive, stifling quiet around them to shatter it. "What, Ed? Who did you kill?"

Ed turned a little more away from him, hand hiding his face, and whispered something that sounded like his brother's name.

Torn, Roy found himself sinking shakily to sit on the edge of his bed, completely at a loss. What was he even supposed to _do?_ He glanced around at the bandages and assorted pill bottles he'd grabbed, now feeling utterly useless. True, Ed didn't appear badly _injured,_ but he needed more help than Roy could give- his automail was a mess, he looked like if he missed another couple meals he'd just keel over and die, and he really might just snap into a psychotic break if Roy said his dear brother's name again...

A seed of grief planted, and he swallowed hard, casting his eyes away. _Alphonse..._ it had been one thing to miss him, and his brother, these past five years, but... dead?

How? _How?_ How could the universe be this cruel to these two brothers- it had taken their family, their bodies, their childhoods, then split them apart- and now this? Where was the equivalent exchange in it all; when had they sinned so badly to deserve this, when was it _enough?_

Roy closed his eye tightly. He made himself swallow back the grief, physically forcing it down like an awful lead lump in his throat and shuddering at the anguish of it. He could mourn for the lost Elric brother, and the one that remained behind, later. Ed had to be his only priority right now.

He looked down at Ed and pushed himself a little closer, leaning over his trembling form. "Ed?" he called softly, trying to get his attention. "Ed, are you listening to me?"

Ed shut his eyes tightly, and this time, he was sure the shudder that rolled through his shoulders was because of him.

His mouth was dry, and he shifted uncomfortably, almost unable to take the silence. "Ed, would it be okay with you if I went and got a doctor?"

Ed stiffened so violently it almost looked like a seizure. He turned his face away violently, pressing it against a pillow, and a low, desperate gasp was torn from his throat.

"Okay- okay, I won't, Ed. I won't do that." He hesitated, biting his lip before he asked the next question. "What about if I called the Rockbells?"

Granted, he hadn't expected a very good response to that question.

He still wasn't ready for the reaction he did get.

Ed bolted upright with such violence he nearly fell off the bed, the hand that had been gripping the pillow jerking around to whack him with a face full of fluff. "I'll kill you," he hissed, and suddenly it came around to whack him again, pillow or not with such _violence_ his head spun. "I'll fucking _kill_ you."

Roy stared, his eye wide with more shock than anything else. What...? "Ed, they'd want to know you're-"

"Haven't you done enough?!" Ed shouted, voice hoarse and strained but desperate in its agony. "You- you _killed_ \- aren't you fucking _satisfied yet?! Haven't you ruined enough?!"_

His confusion finally got the best of him, speaking up even when the rest of him told him to just remain silence. "Ruined _what?!_ I haven't done anything!" For perhaps the first time in his life, it was actually true- he was innocent of any crime here. He hadn't done a damn thing- so why was Ed screaming at him as if he had? "Ed-"

But Ed just jerked away from him, throwing himself down onto his stomach and burying his head under the pillow, hand clutching it tightly as if it were the only thing anchoring him and if he let go even a fraction, it'd disappear. He curled tighter, flinching away from him, breaths hitched and gasped into the mattress, and Roy's half-extended hand dropped helplessly back down in defeat.

Ed wouldn't look at him after that, or speak to him. He shakily fetched a pair of his own pajamas, quietly asked if he wanted to shower- because, god, all that _blood..._ but Ed flinched so badly at even the suggestion he left it alone. Roy recognized the signs of exhaustion that were unique to those following a massive transmutation, and knew there wasn't much longer until Ed was dead to the world, so he found himself being content to wait quietly to clean up what he could until he was unconscious and couldn't resist.

Still- just moments before it looked as if Ed was going to fall asleep- Roy couldn't stop himself from speaking up.

"...Ed?" he called hoarsely, voice trembling with the shock of it all. "I... I'm sorry."

For Al. For whatever it was that had happened to him. For whatever it was Ed thought that he had done.

For whatever it was worth.

Ed stiffened again, and two dark, piercingly _familiar_ eyes that he'd thought he would never see again slowly slid to meet his.

It was silent for a beat, and the only thing Roy knew was that if looks could kill, that unnameable, fierce fire in Ed's eyes- _that_ would be murder.

"Burn in hell," Ed hissed at last, then finally fell still.

* * *

That night, after cleaning up what he could of the blood, dressing him in a pair of his own pajamas that dwarfed him so much it wasn't even comical, and leaving him still as a corpse in his bed, Roy called Hawkeye's office line, and left a message saying he was sick, and wouldn't be in tomorrow.

He tried to sleep on his bloodstained couch, and failed miserably.

Perhaps against his better judgment, he did not call the Rockbells.


	3. C is for Containment

When Roy woke up staring at a blood stain on his carpet so large someone could've died there, the only thing he could feel was relief.

Because the blood meant he hadn't imagined it.

Blood meant it was real.

Ed was home.

...

And, Al wasn't.

His was either so relieved he could cry, or so mournful he couldn't even drag himself off the couch.

Roy closed his eye, coughed out a deep, shuddering breath, and pushed himself upright. His sore muscles protested, but all he could think about was Ed, lying in the back of his home. He couldn't afford to grieve right now. He had someone more important than him here. He had someone to take care of.

Righting his eyepatch, Roy rose, turning stiffly back towards his bedroom. He hesitated a few steps towards it, though, biting his lip. It was a little past seven in the morning, his body still trained for morning reveille even if it had been a decade since it had last been required of him. Based off what he'd seen last night, Ed needed all the rest he could get. He shouldn't be waking him now.

In the end, Roy dragged himself to his kitchen, fixing a breakfast he had no appetite for. Another thing Ed clearly needed was food, and lots of it. Normally meals were something he had to force himself through, but with Ed in the shape he was in, he didn't think he was going to have any trouble forcing it.

Breakfast took twenty minutes, if that. It was twenty minutes too long. Every moment he wasn't in there his stomach twisted further and further in miserable fear of the confrontation that was to come. Now that Ed had had some time to calm down, what on earth was waiting for them in there? He'd be more like himself, perhaps, but-

His brother was dead.

God help him, Roy did not want to step back into that room.

But he was nothing but a good soldier; he did what was required of him, not what was best for him, so, with nothing more than a breath to steady himself, Roy reached forward with one shaking hand, and pushed open the door to his bedroom.

The sight of Ed still relieved him so much he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

Even though relief was surely not appropriate, because Ed did not look like anything that should inspire happiness.

The alchemist lay on his side, huddled in blankets and overly large nightclothes. He drowned in the sheets; if his head hadn't been sticking out Roy honestly could've mistaken it for a rumpled, unmade, empty bed. His hair- his jarring, ragged, short cropped hair- shadowed his face and eyes, but not enough to hide the fact that he was awake.

Ed had been awake already? So early? How long had he been awake _for?_ And why had he just- just sat in here silently until now?

After several moments, it became clear Ed either hadn't heard the door open, or just wasn't going acknowledge him. Whichever way it was, this couldn't go on, so Roy took another few tentative steps forward and cleared his throat. "...Good morning," he greeted weakly, because there was simply no way to get into this gracefully. "Are you... feeling any better...?"

Ed didn't raise his head. He didn't even look at him.

All he did do was flinch.

The nervous tension that had been growing in him for hours hitched up another notch. "Ed?" he tried, voice weak.

And, still huddled up on the bed, face still hidden eyes still averted- Ed finally spoke.

"Who are you?"

Roy stiffened.

What?

To the impossible question, however, Ed offered no explanation or reasoning. There was not a single word said as to why he'd ask such a thing. His voice, rough, hoarse, and small, didn't sound like Ed at all, the person lying there didn't even _look_ like him- for a heartbeat, Roy almost could've believed it was someone else all together. God knew that'd be easier to accept.

But he was a soldier, and lies were the currency of the weak.

"...Mustang. Brigadier-General Roy Mustang."

Ed flinched even worse than before.

Then, still huddled up, he tilted his head, looking down at his hands. He still hadn't so much as glanced in Roy's direction, but as he moved his hair fell and the blankets shifted, for the first time revealing his face.

He looked as if he'd been crying.

Roy's breath stuttered, and just like that something in him cracked.

Slowly, deliberately, Ed lifted his flesh hand and pressed it to his metal one.

His arm flashed in blue light, automail morphing into a blade.

Ed stared.

Then he did it again, reversing the transmutation.

Then he did it again.

Then he did it again.

His automail shook in the reactions, creaking ominously; Roy blanched to see a bolt loosely slip out from the inner workings, rusted and scratched, but Ed simply performed the transmutation one final time, making his trademark blade again, then it let _thump_ gently to the sheets, glinting eerily next to his vacant eyes. His face, what little of it Roy could see, contorted, and then he inched to press it against the pillow, hiding it to moan. "I d-don't _want this,"_ he sobbed, half-muffled into the cotton- and again, no more explanation was given.

Heart squeezed uncomfortably into his throat, Roy cautiously lowered himself down to sit on the edge of the bed. Ed flinched when the mattress tilted with the new weight and another tiny moan was muffled into the pillow. He stared for a moment, lost and helpless, then stammered out, "Ed, what's wrong? It's okay, you're in Amestris, you're safe." He reached out, but Ed flinched so violently again before he even made contact that he thought better of it. "Are you all right...? It's only me... Ed, why did you ask me that- who I was? You... didn't hit your head, did you...?"

The question was almost ridiculous in its improbability, since Ed had certainly recognized him last night, but he just didn't know what else could explain it. Once again, he didn't get an answer, the alchemist just leaving his eyes shut and not so much as looking at him. After several seconds, Roy gave up on that line of questioning, realizing he'd just have to leave it for later. Instead, he gingerly moved a little closer, glancing down anxiously to the rusted metal dust on the sheets that had flaked off from his arm when he'd started transmuting. Part of him desperately wanted to ask Ed what had happened... how Al had died, why he'd shown up screaming and near out of his mind, what had happened to him to make him look this horrible, how the hell he'd even gotten here at all- because Roy, at _Ed's_ request, had destroyed the Gate between worlds five years ago, after he'd shown up with a freak of nature army that had nearly destroyed all of Central. He wasn't supposed to have been able to come back at all.

But something told him if he asked now, he wouldn't get an answer.

"...I made breakfast," he blurted instead.

Ed started.

"I wasn't expecting you'd be awake so early," he continued warily, watching him, "so it's still out there, but I can-"

Ed bolted out of bed, dragging blankets and enormous bed clothes to stumble and sway in an unsteady stampede for the door. He only made it a step and a half before his automail knee buckled, but if Roy had been expecting that to stop him, he was sorely mistaken; Ed just pushed himself to his feet again, dragging the bad leg behind him, and staggered for the door.

"Ed! God, what are you doing?! You're going to hurt yourself-"

"Get your hands off me!"

" _Ed!_ At least let me help-"

"Fuck you!" Ed jerked away from his grip like he'd been burned, dragging himself past him like a madman on a mission. Roy, utterly helpless and stunned, was forced to just follow behind him in case he fell; when he'd even tried to give a hand as support- even though he looked more like he needed to be carried, not just supported- Ed had nearly hit him.

Well, there had gone his hopes that Ed's anger at him had gone while he'd slept.

But Ed moved like he was used to his leg being more a hindrance than an aid, hobbling and stumbling and following his nose until he finally reached breakfast. When he found his prize, two plates of scrambled eggs and two glasses of water, for just one moment, he froze.

Then he was on the food like a parched man to an oasis.

Roy stared dumbly, utterly at a loss at the rate Ed was devouring. He wolfed down the first plate with his hands, giving up using the fork one-handed after only one failed try. Roy's halfhearted warning he was going to make himself sick went utterly ignored. He ate like he expected it to disappear any second now, barely stopping short of licking the first plate clean as he shoved it aside and yanked the second closer in desperate need.

By the time Roy had managed to stop blinking in shock, the second plate was gone, too, and there Ed sat, two plates empty and two glasses drained, panting for breath licking at the residue on his hand.

The whole process had barely taken thirty seconds.

After a few stunned moments, Roy just shook his head at himself and moved forward, suddenly wary of having breakable glass this close to the volatile alchemist and pulled the dishes away, still staring. God, he looked like a- like a starved, trapped animal, so desperate and close to the edge he'd chew off his own arm if that was what he had to do. He barely cast what had been meant for his own breakfast a mournful glance before just piling it in the sink to deal with later. The only reason he even had food for breakfasts at all was to force himself to make it, since Hawkeye insisted he did; buy food that would spoil if left alone, force himself morning after morning to cook something he didn't really want, force himself to eat- some mornings, he still saw it just as too much effort and would go without. He supposed this would just be one of those mornings.

"You shouldn't have eaten that quickly," he finally said, passing Ed a towel for his hand. His automail arm, still formed as a blade, twitched spasmodically. "You're going to get sick later."

Ed hunched over and glared away from him.

"...An apology for eating my half would be nice."

He just wanted to provoke a reaction out of him; he didn't really give a damn about any apology. _Any_ sort of human reaction, anything recognizable, because this starved, terrified animal was the furthest thing from Ed he had ever seen and the reassurance he'd get from something familiar would be a _godsend._ And, Roy succeeded, when Ed blinked, hostility finally clearing as he looked up, staring towards the dishes in surprise. He blinked again, as if only now processing the idea that they hadn't both been for him.

So, it hadn't been intentional, then.

Finally, Ed's caustic eyes returned to him again, and with it, the hostility came back as well. "Don't look hungry to me," he snapped back.

The sheer, boiling _hatred_ in his eyes completely undercut any attempt he'd made to sound casual.

Roy stared right back, still at a loss and, again, fighting the urge to look away just to withdraw from those eyes. "Y... yes," he coughed, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't _look_ hungry. Because a healthy human being isn't meant to _look_ hungry, Edward." He gave him a pointed, up and down glance and a frown. "Care to explain why you do?"

Ed bristled, stiffening in his chair like he'd just been shot at. He clenched his fist around the edge of the table, face pulling into a scowl, and again, did not respond.

All right. Roy knew he had to take this carefully. He couldn't afford to push Ed. He wouldn't ask about Al, not until Ed had given some sign that he was ready to talk about it- but, he was starting to lose his patience here. "Ed. I'm willing to help you out here, but you have to explain this to me. I don't need everything right now, but you- you _can not_ just materialize in my house like this, refuse to give me a single word of what happened, and just expect me to be able to help-"

"You think I fucking chose this, Mustang? You think I _wanted_ to show up here? I wasn't even supposed to make it back to Amestris at all, Truth just left me here as this- this sick joke- but fuck you! I don't want to be here anyway!" He pushed unsteadily to his feet, metal leg creaking under his weight, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _get outta your hair now, you piece of shit_ before staggering into the hallway.

Nonplussed, Roy stared blankly after him in disbelief, because Ed really couldn't be planning to actually _leave._ He looked patently ridiculous, drowning in his shirt and tripping over pant legs, automail limp and useless- but, when Ed banged his shoulder against a doorframe and still kept staggering on, warring to stay on his feet, he realized it wasn't a bluff. Glaring, Roy caught up with his wavering attempt to reach the door, easily outpacing him and grabbing him around his shoulders to stop him.

"Ed, will you sit down! You're not going anywhere- _Ed,_ damn it-"

"Let me go! _Let me go! Don't touch me you piece of shit, LET ME GO!"_

" _Ed!"_

But shouting at him accomplished absolutely _nothing._ Ed still kicked and fought, struggling in his arms- and it was inherently disturbing, that his struggles were so weak all Roy needed to retain his freedom was the one arm around his shoulders. He sighed, swallowing tightly, and held on, refusing to allow him even an inch. "I'll let you go when you calm down, Ed. But you are not going anywhere."

" _Let me GO! How can you do this to me?! You killer! You murderer! YOU MURDERER!"_

Well.

It wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of practice from his nightmares, at ignoring that one.

Ed exhausted himself pitifully quickly. Just by looking at him, Roy could tell he simply did not have the strength for an argument- or, for fighting his way out of his arms to make a run for it. Still, there was something horrifying about how _quickly_ he went limp, gasping for breath and hanging bonelessly against his arm, trembling with revulsion and rage but too exhausted to break free.

Suddenly, Roy found himself acutely missing the child who would've socked him in the face for this... and his brother, who would've promptly chastised him for the next hour afterwards.

"Ed," he said quietly, voice rough. "You aren't going anywhere. Okay? I understand I'm far from your first choice, but by the looks of things, I really am your _last_ one. If word gets out about you being back, you'll be arrested for desertion. If you don't want the Rockbells to know, you can't hide in Risembool. You have no money. Your automail is falling apart. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks. If I turned you loose, you'd either end up in a jail cell or dead, Edward." He paused for a moment, gently shaking him to try and get him to see reason. "Ed, I'm not going to make you tell me anything you don't want to. All I want to do is help you here. But don't be stupid about this, Ed."

This time, the strain at his arm wasn't half-hearted, though it certainly felt like it. Ed was giving all he had- it was just that all he had to give was a weak, barely even noticeable push that didn't even loosen his grip, never mind come close to getting him free. This time, his voice was calm and drained... but the quiet misery that emanated from every syllable was somehow worse than when he'd been screaming.

"Let me go," he whispered, and shook. "You can't keep me here if I don't want to be here. Let me _go,_ Mustang."

Roy stared in disbelief.

"...You... can't be serious," he managed after a heartbeat, blinking down at the top of Ed's downturned head. "Ed, you've got nowhere else to go."

"You can't keep me here," he repeated miserably. He hung in Roy's grip and refused to stare back up at him, voice cracked and broken and shaking with him. "If I want to leave you can't stop me. You _can't,_ so let me go. You can't keep me prisoner here."

He was actually serious, Roy realized in dawning bewilderment. In his condition, Ed really had _nowhere_ else he could go, and no other option. He would die in the streets or get caught trying to cross the border. He had no other option...

And was still dead set on leaving.

Roy sighed, closing his eye.

"Ordinarily, Edward, no. I couldn't," he said at last. He bit his lip, steeling himself for the fight that was to come. "But, ordinarily, if you wanted to leave you'd already be gone, and I'd be tied up or knocked out or glued to my ceiling, and probably missing all the food in my house. But I'm not. So, until you're well enough to get past me, I can keep you here whether you want to stay or not. And I will."

For several moments, he found himself wary that he was actually going to have to protect himself from being stabbed.

Ed wouldn't- not the Ed _he_ knew, anyway. The Ed he knew would kick and fight and scream but know the only logical course of action was to stay here until he was at least recovered, and would hate him for it but when he realized there was no reasonable way out of it would accept it.

This one...

The way Ed was staring up at him now, Roy honestly didn't know whether Ed would stab him and leave him for dead or not.

Then, finally, disturbingly...

He laughed.

He crumpled, so abruptly Roy gasped. His head dropped, his shoulders slumped, and he _collapsed,_ tiny, wet, hysterical chuckles bringing him wheezing to the floor. He fought him and pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle it, but he barely even muffled the tiny bursts of lost, insane laughter, but when Roy fell next to him in a panic to hold him tighter, Ed only laughed even harder.

"It's a joke," he gasped, trembling like a madman. He pressed his hand over his mouth, then yanked at his hair with it, shaking and gasping and _laughing_. "It's all a joke, that's what this is, it's not real, it's n-not _real-_ right, Al? R-right? Its a joke, Al? It's not real?" He curled over, laughing so hard he could've been sobbing, sobbing so hard he could've been dying. "Al- Al-"

Horror and self-loathing slammed into him like a physical blow. He had no idea what he'd done to cause this but guilt curled in his stomach like a slumbering monster, convinced this was his fault and wanting only to stop those anguished cries and maddening laughter from coming out of his mouth. But there was nothing he could do! Ed wasn't even _listening_ to him, and even if he had been- what was he supposed to _say?_ What was he supposed to _do?_ Whatever unthinkable abuse Ed had been through, whatever had killed his brother- there was nothing Roy could possibly do do ease the pain of _that._ But just sitting here, helpless to do anything but hold him... he couldn't stand this.

"T-this," Ed sobbed, gasping, "it's a _joke,_ isn't it? Isn't it?" He pressed a hand to his mouth and strained, trying to pull away. "Truth? This is all some sick joke? I'm not back in Amestris at all, am I...?" He touched his palms together again, morphing his arm, then stared at the alchemic reaction with another hitching sob. "But you can't do alchemy inside the Gate... no, what am I saying, of course I can, Truth makes the rules, I can do whatever he wants..."

"Ed, you're not making _sense._ Of course you're in Amestris, you-"

But Ed wasn't even listening to him. "I died after all, that's what happened, isn't it...? We both died- but Truth's not done fucking with me- first Germany, then the war, then- th-that place- I can't-" He clutched at his face with the one hand he could still move, fingers trembling and eyes wide unseeing. "Why? _Why...?_ Why are you doing this to me, just stop, _stop,_ I can't give anymore, hasn't it been enough yet? I can't, I c-can't, I- _... Al..."_

Roy's breath caught. God, _Ed._ His voice was so tortured, eyes so wild... he couldn't bear this. Panic pounding in his chest, because he didn't have a clue what this was besides _bad,_ Roy spun Ed around, gripping him by the shoulders but now holding him at arm's length, forcing the younger alchemist's terrorstricken gaze to meet his eye. He had to do _something,_ no matter how fruitless or hopeless. "Ed, listen to me. You're overreacting. I'm not going to keep you here against your will; when you're well enough to leave I won't stop you! But _think._ If you're not well enough to even get past me, you'll never make it out of the city. And where are you going to go, even if I let you?" He shook him slightly, trying desperately to get him to listen to reason. "Ed. Don't make this worse than it has to be."

Ed hung there limply at first, almost lifted off the floor he was so unresisting and empty. Wide eyes stared at him, not listening to his words but searching for something beyond them, something he could only guess at and didn't think he wanted to know. His gaze was heavy and empty, somehow, the fierce _life_ the child he remembered had always embodied now just... _absent,_ eyes haunted in the exact same way Roy often found his own to be, on those mornings when it was just too much to even get out of bed.

Then, as if it was all just too much, he shut his eyes, hung his head, and went perfectly still.

"Fine," he said quietly, and there was no word for his voice other than dead.

He didn't fight him again that day, after that, and somehow, that was more terrifying than anything else thus far.


	4. D is for Doppelgänger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much sense this chapter makes at this point probably depends a lot on how much you've guessed about what happened to Ed in Germany (and your knowledge of WW2). If it confuses people, I'll put up an author's note explaining this one after we find out just what Ed got up to in Germany. For now, I'll keep quiet :)

* * *

Three days after Ed's startling, horrifying return, things had not improved at all.

Despite his broken automail, he refused to stay in bed. Neither would he talk to Roy, however. He'd hobble around like some kind of demented specter, haunting the halls and ignoring him whenever he was calm, glaring at him like he might just be about to commit murder whenever not. Just what the hell Ed was _doing_ , however, was another question that he had no answer to.

He obsessed over reading, whatever he could get his hands on. Usually one of the alchemy books Roy still had, and at first he was worried, anxious that Ed was searching for the forbidden, because even though he'd more than learned his lesson the first time he tried it, he wouldn't put it past him to try again, for Al's sake. But Roy had burned all his books dealing with human transmutation years ago, and even if he hadn't- it didn't seem like that was Ed's intent.

Even his books on alchemy basics, foundations Ed had probably mastered before he was three- he read them. Tracing the simple circles in the pages with a shaking hand, eyes unreadable.

When Roy had asked him what the hell he was doing, Ed had shut the book and limped away.

Then there was the constant transmuting; at this point Roy was half expecting his arm to just straight up rust and oxidize into dust, at the rate he kept doing it. It seemed every other minute he was hearing the sound of someone clapping through the house, then the electric spark of a transmutation. He wasn't transmuting for any purpose, either- sometimes he fixated on a door, making the doorknob just change shape for hours; sometimes it was Roy's clothes, alchemizing them to fit then making them grow again- once, he'd gotten up during breakfast, picked up his plate, and dropped it to shatter on the floor.

Then he'd fixed it, frowned at it, glared at Roy, and walked away again.

As far as he could tell, Ed still hadn't once transmuted his arm back from the blade he'd made the first morning.

That was another cause for concern, actually- the automail. It wasn't just the fact that it obviously had not seen maintenance in many years. It had plainly been abused, and it was bad enough that the alchemist clearly was in some amount of pain and would've been better off having it removed entirely. Something else Roy was putting of asking him about, because the last time he'd even mentioned the Rockbells, it had not gone well.

Three days, since his return... and all Roy had figured out was that he was in far, far over his head.

Which wasn't a good place for him to be, because he couldn't take any more time off work.

Roy waited until dinner to broach the topic, trying not to pay too much attention to the way Ed still devoured his food like he expected it to disappear and even slipped a piece of bread into his sleeve, hoarding it for later and unaware Roy had noticed. Yet another new habit he had no idea how to address, and more than that, wasn't sure he wanted to. Pushing Ed, even to the smallest degrees he'd risked, had not ended well.

Ed was still ignoring him, so Roy simply watched him, waiting all two minutes it took for him to finish eating- then clearing his throat, just before Ed could make it out of the room.

The alchemist tensed.

Slowly, warily, he turned his head back just an inch, and the moment their eyes met, Ed glared at him so harshly he almost expected to be hit.

Roy frowned.

"I just thought I would mention," he began carefully, "that I'm going to return to work tomorrow. You'll need to start fending for yourself over the day."

Ed tilted his head a little, automail blade wavering by his side. His eyes narrowed. "You done babysitting me now?" he hissed. "Or you going to lock me in here? Put an array on the door that'll blow up if I try and run?"

Roy sighed. No, he hadn't figured out why Ed still responded to him with such ridiculous venom, either. "No, Ed, I'm not. I'm trusting that you'll do what's good for you and stay, but I'm not going to lock you in my basement and treat you like a prisoner. If you really want to leave, then I'm not going to stand in your way."

It was a weak challenge, and they both knew it. Ed was too smart, and too good an alchemist; the only way to _actually_ keep him here against his will would be to handcuff or drug him. He was not about to do that to him. If Ed really could not stand to stay here any longer, then Roy knew he'd already be gone.

After several moments passed in silence, Ed just glaring at him, Roy cleared his throat and tried again. "I would stay longer, but Lieutenant Hawkeye's going to get suspicious if this keeps up. She doesn't trust me like she used to. I can't afford to call in sick again, or she's going to show up here. I'm guessing you don't want that."

Ed blinked, the black anger in his eyes finally cooling a little at the sudden realization that Roy was doing him a favor. Ed stared for a moment, some of the hostility finally draining away from his face, then coughed abruptly and looked away, expression turning cold again. "It doesn't matter," he muttered sullenly, but Roy was not so much of an idiot to believe that was true.

"Right," he murmured, not bothering to call him out on it. "Well. I'll be home for breakfast and dinner, but please eat something during the day. I don't care what, Ed; you need it." He frowned, not even trying to disguise the motion as his eye trailed over him again, fixating on the weight he desperately needed to gain back. Really, he doubted he even needed to say it, by the way Ed had been devouring everything put before him, but he wanted to be safe.

When Ed just shrugged a little, still looking too irritated with him to do him the decency of a response- though just why he was irritated at all, Roy still didn't have a clue- he just sighed, giving up. "If you need anything, you know where to find me," he muttered, making to move past Ed and return to his study.

Then, just as he passed, slipping by with barely an inch of space between them- he caught sight of Ed's bare skin, underneath his collar.

Roy's eye widened.

"Fullmetal..."

Ed jerked, stiffening just at the tone of voice. He started to reel away, shoulders tensing and eyes flashing in the unmistakable light of one who thought he was under attack- but, Roy was faster than him, and he grabbed the nightshirt's shoulder and yanked it aside before Ed could make it far enough out of reach.

What he revealed made him gasp.

Ed yanked away from his suddenly loosened grip, staggering several steps back to pull his shirt back into place. His eyes screamed murder once again, rusted and creaking automail blade upraised and body tensed as a living weapon. He shifted into a slight crouch, looking ready to lunge or fight if need be, and for just one moment, teeth bared and eyes blazing and sheer _hate_ etched into every single line of his hollowed face- Roy truly believed he would.

Unfortunately for Ed, he wasn't about to stop just because he was being glared at.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Ed, tense and wary, remained silent.

The day Ed had returned, he'd been covered in blood. Roy, more than slightly uncomfortable with washing it off his unconscious, naked body, had simply told Ed he was free to use his shower whenever he wanted, and left it at that. He had assumed, like any sane person, that Ed would have washed it off days ago.

However, he now could see that that was not the case.

Ed hadn't even touched it.

Three and a half days, now... and he was still walking around covered in his brother's blood.

His stomach flipped nauseatingly, and, in a rising sense of horror, Roy forced his eye off Ed's enraged stare. He turned to the disheveled sleeve he'd pulled aside, under which he could still catch a glimpse of the massive stains. "What- _possessed_ you-" he stammered weakly, feeling almost ill. What was _wrong_ with him? "Ed, you- you can't walk around like this! Are you insane?! Why haven't you washed that off?!"

At the challenge, Ed only tensed even further, teeth still bared in a snarl that was almost animal in its disgust. "Shut up," he hissed, enraged eyes darting as if in search of an escape route before returning, right back to him, to bore straight through his own in murderous fury. "You fucking- _shut up._ I can't walk around like this? Or what, what are you gonna do, Mustang? You fucking _shit_ , what do you even think you're going to do?"

And there it was again- something part of him recognized, that caustic, angry boy who tossed around insults like endearments, an Ed from many years ago- but part of it was just... off. The thing he'd always lacked was intent; Ed's rants had never been intended to hurt, more of just a rebellious kid running his mouth to blow off steam, trying to function in an adult world- but _this..._

Ed wasn't carelessly calling him a useless bastard or Colonel Sarcasm this time.

This time, the intent to hurt was there.

He could feel it rolling straight off him in sickened, murderous waves.

After several moments, still grounded by that stare, Roy finally shook himself. Now was hardly the time for such thoughts. "Edward," he insisted firmly, and tried to tell himself those cold, cold eyes weren't unsettling him, "you are not going to walk around here covered in your brother's blood. Go wash it off. Now."

Ed's eyes flashed, and then- then, he _laughed,_ mouth slipping into something of a horrific grin, not one of amusement but one of a predator about to bite the neck off its prey. "It's not his blood," was all he said, a low, hoarse whisper, and his blade shook in the air.

Once again, Roy simply shook his head. Clearly, Ed's intent was to be difficult about this. Well, if he wanted to act like a five year old, then, evidently, Roy was going to have to treat him like one. "I don't much care whose blood it is," he informed him crossly, beginning to push up his sleeves. "It's getting cleaned off. It's unhygienic, don't get me started on the fact that it makes me think you're losing it, and, frankly, it's disgusting. You are coming with me, and so help me, if I have to watch you use my shower to make sure you do it, I will. Come, Ed."

Later, Roy would look back on that moment, and realize where it all went wrong. He'd realize when the hatred in Ed's eyes shifted, morphing from burning, predatory hate to the beginnings of that hunted fear. He'd curse and berate and hate himself for not seeing it, because god knew he'd seen such a look in his own eye enough times to recognize it in another's- but he hadn't been expecting it, had just been approaching this as a regular argument with Ed, so he missed it.

It was a crucial mistake.

Ed jerked a step back, blade rising again. His back hit the wall, and his feet shifted again, legs bending as if about to lunge. "Don't you fucking _touch me,"_ he gasped, voice etching higher with- with what? Panic, strain, a willingness to fight? _"Back off!"_

Roy groaned to himself. This was ridiculous. "Believe me, I'd love to. I have no desire to spend my day watching you _shower._ But, if you're not going to do it yourself, you don't leave me a choice." Really, he was trying to be understanding, he really was- but he'd been through enough battles, lost enough people, to know how brazenly unacceptable this was. He may not have known what actually happened to Al, but even Roy, poster-child for unhealthy ways to cope with stress and trauma, had never just wandered his halls covered in blood for days at a time. It would be good for Ed in the long run, and, more importantly, if he let this behavior continue, the only place for it to end was somewhere devastatingly bad.

He held still for several seconds, hoping for Ed to take the rational choice here once he understood it wasn't a choice at all. But Ed didn't so much as move. The alchemist stared wildly at him, not moving an inch, not saying a word, just watching him with that glazed look of burning hatred- and at last, Roy just threw up his hands and re-commenced his approach.

"Stop- _stop it- back the fuck off don't you fucking touch me- no-"_

"You're not giving me much a choice here, Ed," Roy sighed, resigning himself for the inevitable fight that was to come. Without giving him any more time, he leaned down to the cornered alchemist, grabbed him by the shoulders, and started to herd him out of the room.

"No! _NO! STOP! NO-"_

"Will you calm down?!"he broke in exasperatedly. The raw shout made him flinch, but Roy steeled himself, still making himself force the uncooperative boy to move and not let it get to him. Because by god, he was not going to be gentle and try and calmly explain the benefits of washing off his dead brother's blood. No wonder he'd been such a mess these past three days, walking around covered in _that-!_ It felt like sinking down to try and argue with an insane man over the validity of his delusions. Some things were too impossible to give rational discussion and this was one of them. "It's not going to hurt you, Ed, it's just a fucking _shower-"_

Ed screamed at him again, this time a wordless wail. He wrenched and thrashed, and this time it was all instinct; Roy saw him about to break free and, more bewildered at the level of fight he was putting up than anything else, caught him roughly by his flesh shoulder, holding him in place. His automail barely functional, the rest of him still recovering, he just wasn't able to put up enough of a fight: Roy overcame his nonexistent resistance, slipped an arm around his legs, and hoisted him up into the air.

And immediately realized two things.

The first: Ed was not fighting him out of stubbornness, reluctance, or even just an unwillingness to wash the blood off.

For whatever reason, Ed thought he was fighting for his life.

The second:

Edward Elric was not, and would never be, helpless.

A metal knee slammed to his chest, Roy staggered- and five metal fingers crushed around his throat.

" _Nein! Nein! NEIN! NEIN! NEIN! AUFHÖREN! AUFHÖREN, TU DAS NICHT! TU DAS NICHT, TU DAS NICHT!"_

He hit the floor. Some very small, distant part of his mind heard the crack of his skull on the hallway table, and the scream of old wounds as he was pinned to the wood.

The rest of him saw nothing but Ed's face above his own.

And in that face- despite Ed being the one on top of him, despite Ed's metal hand being locked around his throat, despite _Ed_ being able to crush his jugular and kill him right then and there if he so desired- in that face, amber eyes impossibly wide and stricken, desperation carved into ever line and scar, panic alight in frantic screams of words he did not know- Roy saw terror.

Ed was absolutely terrified.

Of him.

His last thought was that he had made a very huge mistake.

" _NEIN! NEIN!_ _ **NEIN!"**_

He blacked out.

* * *

Waking up, Roy's body one giant, walking bruise, came with the feeling he'd could've only been out for several minutes. There were no longer fingers around his throat, or the weight of someone on top of him.

His head still throbbed like a cracked egg, mind still spun, and it took him more than several moments to place just why he was on the floor and what had happened.

When he remembered, his stomach dropped, and any possible words he might've said were robbed from him along with his breath.

The back of his head felt tender and sore when he probed it with his fingertips, but he didn't find any lump, so he tentatively sat up, steadfastly ignoring how the world tried to tilt drunkenly and squinting through the blurring colors. Ed was gone. Oh, god. Ed was gone.

He stumbled dizzyingly to his feet, clutching his wall for support when the world tilted again. Instantly, his bleary mind raced with possibilities. He'd blacked out- for how long? Too long. Minutes if not hours. What if-

Ed didn't want to be here, Ed hated him, even if he didn't understand why or what had happened it was undeniably clear that Ed did not want this and _hated_ him. And after what he'd just done to him... what if Ed was gone? What if he'd run? What if he'd realized Roy was unconscious and seen his chance and bolted and that was that?

No- _no..._ Roy's stomach bottomed out again and he lurched several feet forward, searching in an almost panicked haze. No. Ed couldn't have left. Roy couldn't have failed him again. He wasn't going to disappear _again,_ that just... wasn't how it worked. Ed wasn't going to vanish out of his life again, because he'd barely survived it the first time, and he'd spent _years_ clawing his way back to this place of functioning, achievements no longer promotions or commendations but getting out of bed in the morning and just making it through the day- Ed _wasn't_ going to knock him right back down to where he'd been seven years ago, that little fucking _shit_ -

Another gasp tore its way out of him. No sign of Ed. No sign. Panting, he tore through the rest of the house, staggering when old wounds made themselves known but always catching himself in time to continue his frantic search. Now wasn't the _time_ for this, damn it, he had to find Ed! No, no, no, not here, not here, no...

 _He's going to leave,_ an insidious, poisonous voice whispered in the back of his mind. _What help have you been to him? None, that's right. None at all. You are utterly worthless- no, worse than that; you're poison. You turn everything you touch to mud. He's going to leave. He's going to run away before you ruin him like everything else. He's going to leave, and you'll never see him again, and he'll die, won't he, he'll die because you couldn't so much as keep him safe for one god damn week, you useless_ shit-

Oh, god-

" _ED!"_ he shouted, and the weak desperation that rang in the cry stunned even himself but he just didn't care. "Ed, Ed, where are you?! Are you still here?! _ED!"_

There was no reply.

" _EDWARD!"_

The silence of his home rang in his ears, suffocating and oppressive and pressing in on him from all sides. It felt hard to breathe and he shook in place, the enormity of what he'd done growing up like a wave to crush him. There was no one here. Ed was gone. He'd left. He had _left; Roy what the hell is wrong with you, how could you drive him away now of all times?! He needs someone to take care of him and you drove him off into the streets; Roy you FUCK UP!_

Ed-

Wait.

Wait.

His panicked breaths screeched to a stop, and Roy, frozen in place, closed his eyes and actually listened.

For a moment, all there was to hear was the hard pounding of his own heart in his ear, _da-thump, da-thump, da-thump,_ but, then...

The faint sound of someone breathing.

The faint sound of someone breathing, and the ragged, quiet gasps that marked it as Ed's.

His heart skipped a beat.

Ed.

_Ed._

For several moments, there was room for nothing but crushing relief.

But this was not about him, and all too soon, that relief faded, because in the wings was waiting a horrified, sickened guilt, for what he had done, and a twisting, gnawing anxiety, for what he still had to do.

He hadn't checked the bedroom before. He'd been so utterly convinced Ed was gone, had left, he hadn't even thought to check back in the one place that would mean he wasn't going to run. He hadn't looked back in his bedroom- but now that he has stopped to actually listen-

Roy turned, and, on shaking feet, walked back after the sounds.

And the stubborn, lingering remains of his relief, painful in their vibrancy, were quickly smashed to smithereens when he hesitantly followed after the noise and found Ed, and understood the full extent of what he'd broken.

Ed- still there, perfectly unharmed, for some unfathomable reason had not run from him _Ed-_ sat on the floor of what had become his bedroom, huddled up and so small he could've been mistaken for a five year old child. He was sunk into the corner, flesh arm holding his knees to his chest, automail one shaking by his side... still morphed into that blade he hadn't once let go of, ever since that first morning over three days ago. His face was partially hidden in the cocoon made by his legs, long hair shielding his eyes, but...

But he still looked terrified.

For several moments, Roy just stood there, and watched. Something in his chest clenched at the sight, and both fervor and panic cooled to a quiet, churning sort of guilt that left him nearly sick to his stomach.

Ed never looked at him.

It took a monumental effort, and a long period of standing in the doorway to silently watch him, for Roy to move away, leaving him alone for the moment. He limped away as quietly and quickly as he could, willing himself not to think or brood or dwell, just let his mind be a blank.

If his hands wouldn't stop shaking, he ignored it.

All too soon, he was back in his bedroom, faced with more guilt than he knew what to do with and a silent, trembling Ed. Swallowing hard, Roy limped stiffly forward, coming to a halt before he was close enough to touch him and instead lowering himself carefully to the floor. Now was not the time to force an approach. This had to be Ed's choice.

Roy paused for several moments, waiting for Ed to back away or tell him to stop. When no response came, he still held himself back, knowing it had to be Ed's decision whether or not he'd be touched now. Instead, he gently tossed the damp washcloth in his hands forward, letting it softly thump to the wood flooring just obtrusively enough to get Ed's attention.

Ed went still.

Ed stiffened.

Ed, very slowly, and jerkily, raised his gaze, first looking up from his knees to the washcloth, then, raising his head a little higher, letting his gaze land on Roy's face.

He still looked terrified, and Roy, even in his own miserable guilt, knew he wasn't imagining the fact that the moment Ed found him sitting there just across from him, that fear got even worse.

Faced with the murderous distrust, silent hate, and trembling fear, all of it earned, Roy swallowed, forcing himself to face it without flinching. He deserved this. "I apologize," he rasped quietly, not breaking Ed's gaze. "I tried to force you to do something you weren't comfortable with. I shouldn't have."

For several moments, Ed did not respond. He simply watched him, still huddled in a tiny ball against his wall, radiating distrust and quiet fear.

"...Can you tell me what exactly I did that you didn't like? So I know what to avoid in the future?" he ventured, even if the question was simply _pathetic_ in its stupidity. Oh, yes, which part of this trainwreck had been him crossing the line? Perhaps when he'd manhandled him into the hallway rather than approaching the topic of _Ed's dead brother_ with gentleness and care? Maybe when he'd yelled at him? Or when he'd overrode all of his protests, ignored the fact he'd been traumatized, hurt, and abused, and just picked him up to drag him somewhere against his will?

An easier question to answer would've been what he'd done _right_ today.

The alchemist's head jerked in a tiny shake and he shut his eyes, moaning into his knees. He was plainly still reeling from the flashback and Roy held very still, heart in his throat. _Don't fuck this up, too, you useless shit. Don't fucking scare him now too on top of everything else._

Then, hoarse and quiet, _finally,_ he got his answer.

"Take your eyepatch off."

Roy stared.

"...Um... Ed?"

But nothing- nothing, except that silent, terrified, expectant stare- was forthcoming.

After several moments, it became very clear there wasn't really another choice.

Hesitantly, suddenly not really able to meet Ed's eyes, Roy reached a hand up. He hesitated, gut twisting, then just shut his eye and forced himself to push the eyepatch up and off his head. He took in another shuddering breath, then jerked his hand down to his lap, clenching his fist in useless tension. He reminded himself if he could face down bullets, he could face this, then forced his gaze back to Ed, and held still.

Ed stared at him.

His blind side throbbed, likely from the earlier fall, and he resisted the urge to rub or hide it again. Ed was staring at him- _it-_ but, not with a look that made much sense. Not one of disgust or revulsion, even some of that earlier hatred was gone; he just stared at the ruined half of his face with a hard, searching stare, almost as if... he was trying to find something.

It took perhaps a full minute, for Ed to finally just sigh, slumping forward to rest his forehead on his knee. In the instant before his eyes were hidden, all Roy could glimpse in them was exhausted, miserable _defeat._ "It doesn't help," he said quietly, but Roy got the feeling he wasn't being addressed in the slightest. "You're still... you still look like... _him."_

Then, after several moments of quiet, Ed retrieved the damp washcloth from the floor, still without looking at him, looked down at himself waveringly- then, silently, began to clean off the blood.

Olive branch accepted, then.

"I still hate you," Ed said quietly, and once again, it felt as if the alchemist were talking to himself- not to Roy.

Whether he was being spoken to or not, Roy decided there was little else for him to do but remain silent, and after what he'd done earlier, not approach him again. After he'd as good as broken any shards of trust Ed had in him, it was clear Ed did not want him here, and no matter how much it pained him that meant he was not force himself any closer. He remained a good several feet back, legs crossed, eyepatch still held limply in his hand, and simply held his post as a silent sentry to watch as Ed washed off the blood. It had dried a long time ago, coming off without much trouble, though there were a few thicker patches that would probably need soap and a hot shower- well.

That, evidently, would have to wait a little while.

Ed moved methodically, scrubbing away at the blood with a leisurely lack of urgency, his face blank. It wasn't long before he had systematically removed almost every stain from his skin, and rather see to the few that remained, Ed simply lay the ruined cloth down on the floor next to himself and unsteadily climbed up to sit on the bed. He, quite clearly, was done with this. Cleaning off the blood, looking at Roy, sitting there silently- whatever _this_ was, he was done with it.

Roy paused, left behind to sit on the floor. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he reached forward to collect the cloth and stood as well. If Ed wanted to be left alone- well, Roy was lucky the alchemist was even being _this_ cordial with him. He deserved far worse. Clearing his throat, with a glance over his automail, still covered in rusting, brown-red blood stains that simple scrub down with water would not fix, he said, "If you tell me what solution you use to clean your automail, I'll try and pick some up for you tomorrow. You can also try and find something here, but I'm afraid all I've got is rubbing alcohol." He paused, throat thick. "...Good night, Edward."

He was almost to the door, each step lurching through a sickening swamp of guilt, when Ed stopped him.

"It wasn't Al's blood."

Roy paused. "...You've said that."

Ed's fierce eyes landed on him again. The alchemist watched him quietly, unreadable again, and for a boy who'd worn his heart on his sleeve seeing him this withdrawn and still was unsettling to an almost painful degree. Ed said nothing at first, just looking in silence, then-

"It was yours."

Then, he lay down, stubbornly turned his back on Roy, and jabbed his head under the pillow in an unspoken demand for him to leave.

After several stunned, shocked seconds, Roy did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed's yelling is in German, stuff like no, stop, don't do this, etc. :)


	5. E is for Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German in the last chapter has now been updated/fixed, thanks to the kind reviewers on here and on ff.net. Thank you all! :) I may return to edit the second half of this chapter a little bit later, since I can't tell if I'm happy with it or not... but until I have a bit more free time- enjoy!

Work was not a pleasant experience.

Hawkeye was there before him, because that was simply how things had to be; he was by now entirely convinced that even if he arrived at five AM, Major Riza Hawkeye would be sitting primly at her desk, stack of the day's work perfectly organized, timecard stamped for 4:55. Roy stepped into his outer office, raised an eyebrow at the entirely unsurprising sight of his second hand already present, and marched straight past her towards his safe haven. He knew he should stay, try and put her at ease and throw any suspicions off- but, after the night he'd had, he felt entirely too exhausted for his silver tongue.

Predictably, Hawkeye followed him. By the look about her, if he'd been more than one minute later, she would've been calling his home and sending Havoc to go pick him up. This morning Roy had arranged for his driver to be some lieutenant he hadn't known, wishing to avoid an interrogation- now, if he could just keep this one short...

"Thank you for keeping the office in running order, Major," he said calmly, sitting at his desk as if nothing was wrong. His desk, he noted, that had become magnificently more organized since before his impromptu absence. His lip twitched. Perhaps he should call out more often... "Any problems?"

"None that weren't handled." Hawkeye stopped before his desk, eyes narrowed as they swept over him, lingering on the high collar of the dark turtleneck sweater worn under his jacket. Ed's metal fingers had left purple, unmistakeable bruises along his throat. The other bruises, hidden behind his eyepatch and strategically combed hair, were of little concern even if spotted- but he would've had a very hard time talking his way out of an attempted strangulation.

Ed, too, had looked askance at his high collar this morning. But, as he was growing painfully used to, he'd had no comment on that, or anything else, for that matter. He wasn't sure Ed had said two words to him all morning, minus _l_ _ike you give a damn_ when Roy had asked if he'd slept well.

He sighed, drumming his fingers on his desk, and tried to brush the words out of his mind.

Hawkeye frowned at him again. She pointed one finger at his collar, then gestured for him to lower it.

Roy frowned right back. "Sexual harassment, Major?" he provoked, even going so far as to leer and add an exaggerated, sweeping glance around the empty office. "I should've known something was up when I arrived; sent everyone else away just for this, did you? Ah, but you should've just came by when I was sick and offered chicken soup. _That's_ the real way to a man's heart, Major. Or mine, at least."

Hawkeye looked so incredibly unamused he might as well have just word-vomited all over his desk, for all the good his little speech had done him. Or actually vomited. She gestured for him to pull down his collar again.

Sighing, Roy leaned back in his chair, allowing a more serious expression to cross his features. "I'm perfectly all right, Hawkeye," he murmured, cautiously eying the door behind her in case one of his other men picked this most inopportune moment of now to make an appearance. "You've not got anything to worry about. I'm allowed to get sick, aren't I? Wear something different once and a while?"

"Of course, sir."

She didn't look convinced in the slightest.

He sighed again. "My leg was acting up again, all right?" he muttered sullenly. It was the surefire way to get her to stop pressing this. He broke eye contact and leaned back again, folding his hands before him and trying to look uncomfortable, embarrassed. "I've just been laid up on my couch reading. Which I'm sure you already knew, since I'm still positive you've got a rifle scope set up on some rooftop a mile away so you can keep an eye on me. Okay?"

It was a low blow, even if she didn't know it. Hawkeye wasn't one to flinch at anything he said or did, but being reminded of the injuries from that night Bradley had died, the injuries she still harbored a sense of guilt over, was always enough to render her silent. He felt rather than saw her stiffen, almost imperceptibly, then after a beat of uncomfortable silence, a quiet salute and withdrawn, "Sir," as she returned to her desk.

Roy wondered if the only reason she still put up with him at all was because of the guilt.

* * *

" _Rockbell automail shop, Rush Valley, how may I help you?"_

"Miss Rockbell. It's General Mustang."

" _Oh... General. It's been a while."_

"..."

" _...Ah... can I do something for you?"_

"...Miss Rockbell, I..."

" _...General?"_

"It's... nothing. Never mind."

" _General Mustang-"_

"It's nothing, Miss Rockbell. Nothing at all. I apologize for bothering you. Have a good rest of your day."

" _General-"_

_Click._

* * *

That night, after a long day of avoiding awkward conversations, awkward looks from his staff, and above all else, another interrogation from Hawkeye, Roy swung by the non-alchemist's library, checked out three books on automail repair and maintenance, and headed home.

Ed wasn't waiting for him when he walked inside, which, he supposed, was somewhat of a relief. He really hadn't been looking forward to another argument, which he was beginning to see was inevitable, whenever he and Ed were even in the same room together. There were still obvious signs of co-habitation though, and none that the alchemist had hauled off and run during the day, so he forced himself to remain calm and leave him alone. It wouldn't help at all to continue hovering over him like some kind of overprotective mother hen. Rather than go and check on him, he just let him be, and found himself making dinner purely from a lack of something else productive to do than anything else. Again, he was able to notice some signs that Ed had at least eaten something during the day, and couldn't suppress a sigh of relief. He knew he'd told Ed to eat whatever he liked, but hadn't been able to silence his worry that the alchemist would be stubborn enough to sit there and starve all day. He _was_ that stubborn, and after what had happened last night...

He supposed he should be grateful Ed was even still wiling to stay here at all.

It didn't take him long to throw together something edible (the highest compliments that could be paid towards his food). Making as much noise as he could, trying to alert Ed he was home if he hadn't somehow already figured it out, Roy made two plates, then cautiously ventured back towards his bedroom, steeling himself for the fight that- for some reason he still he couldn't discern- was certainly about to come.

"Ed," he announced, rapping on the door with his knuckles to push it open. "I've- ...oh."

He was asleep.

Roy paused, feeling his tension dissolve like a balloon being popped. Oh. Ed was just... asleep. That was all. Slowly, a weak smile started to contort its way across his face as he found himself loosening, the previous stiffness in his shoulders filtering away, everything he'd been so apprehensive about vanishing into smoke just like that. Roy leaned back against the doorjamb to just watch Ed, rubbing a slightly shaking hand over his face and battling the sudden urge for nervous laughter. No argument just for daring to walk in the room, no shouted insults for no reason at all- Roy hadn't even realized how grating it had all started to get until he realized how greatly he was relaxing now. And, what was more, seeing him like this, a tiny lump under thick sheets with his head barely sticking out, he almost forgot what he'd been worried about at all. He looked so... small- and for once, he didn't mean that as a provocation. He honestly looked small. Helpless and harmless. Which was ridiculous; neither of those words could ever apply to him- but like this...

Roy sighed, idly quieting the small swell of protective instinct in his chest, and put aside the anxious urge to keep that injured boy safe to be dealt with some other time.

Shaking it off, he walked forward quietly, preparing to shake him awake. Ed's usual arguments and resistance or not, he needed to eat something- and best to just get it over with sooner rather than later.

He stopped, however, when his hand actually made contact with his skin.

...Damn it.

His relieved smile from before, and the relaxed calm, both fell, in a descent that was almost physically painful.

It seemed it really wasn't possible for things to go right, even if just for one day.

 _"Ed,_ " he called harshly, voice edged a little louder than it had been previously, now with irritation and worry. "Hey, Ed. Wake up."

Ed groaned a little, turning his face away. He hugged the pillow closer to his head, mouth twitching in annoyance at being disturbed.

Roy sighed. "Ed." He gripped his shoulder tighter, glaring past the long fringe of hair. _"Wake. Up."_

The words again got a small whuff of air, the breath ruffling the hair dangling over his face. Ed turned, muttering something sleepy and irritated under his breath. "What," he grumbled, pressing his face into a pillow.

"Ed, you have a fever. You're sick." He shook him harder, pushing the blankets back a little. "Why didn't you say something? You should've called my office."

Ed stared at him for a moment, eyes bleary and unfocused, then suddenly blinked. "Sick?" he mumbled, nonplussed and shaking his head; he actually started to push himself up, even though his arms were trembling, kicking at the blanket futilely. Strangely, neither the words or the expression or hostile. Ed wasn't glaring at him, wasn't snarling out obscenities or insults- in fact, now that he really thought about, this had to be the most civil Ed had been to him since his return. "No... no, Mustang, I'm not," he said calmly. "I'm not sick."

"What?" Out of nowhere, he found himself having to try and keep the alchemist down, struggling with his exhausted, unfocused struggles to get out of bed. What on _earth?_ Carefully, Roy gently pinned his flesh limbs, automail not coordinated enough to be a concern, and leaned down to meet his eyes as best as he could. "Ed, you've got a fever- you need to stay in bed, all right? You'll be fine, just- I'll take your temperature, and-"

"I said I'm not sick!" Suddenly angry, he kicked again, this time thrashing hard enough to escape Roy's hand and sit all the way upright. _This_ animosity was more familiar to the Ed he'd grown accustomed to the past couple of days- but again, it was off. He wasn't angry at _him,_ in fact, he sounded almost... scared.

But unlike the day before, Roy hadn't done anything to provoke that fear out of him.

Was that was this was about? What he'd done to him yesterday? But Ed hadn't seemed that different this morning- a little more skittish of him than usual, but certainly nothing that suggested Ed thought he might actually hurt him. But now that he was sick like this, maybe- god, could this really be because of how badly he'd messed up last night? Oh, god-

"...Ed," he said gently after several moments, voice cracking, and carefully let go of his hand. Whether or not he understood where this fear was coming from, the important was to validate and respect it- not proceed as usual just because Ed had nothing to be afraid of here. "Ed, all I'm going to do is taking your temperature. It won't hurt. I just need to make sure I don't have to call a doctor. I-"

But Ed pulled away even at this, scrabbling on the bed to push himself up back against the headboard, eyes almost wild as they pinned with his. "N-no, Mustang," he stammered, trembling more than his voice, "no, I- I said I'm fine, no fever, anything. I'm completely fine!" He tried to smile, tried to look convincing, but it was so broken and nerve-wracked it wouldn't have fooled even a child. Still grinning, that hollow, disturbing, empty grin, he started to lurch out of bed, then swayed, head obviously swimming with fever as he slumped back to keel over; god, he looked like he was about to pass out.

Damn it, something wasn't right about all of this. He knew Ed wasn't one to admit to being unwell very easily, but something about this- it wasn't like Ed was trying to hide it, it honestly seemed like he hadn't even realized he was sick... and even though Roy hadn't done a single threatening thing, was even going out of his way to accommodate him- he still looked scared. There had to be something he was missing. "Ed, you- you will be fine, but you're not right now. I'm just trying to make sure you get better, all right?" When this earned no response, he sighed, sitting back momentarily to give him a once over. It appeared to be true; aside from the fever and bloodshot, tired eyes, nothing really looked wrong with him. Roy supposed it was just a cold sidelining him; his physical condition and stress turning him into a doormat aside, this was his first time in Amestris in years. Roy himself could've given him any common bug that he was immune to but that Ed, absent for so long, had lost resistance to. Perhaps he really didn't need a thermometer after all... he doubted this was anything serious...

Although, granted, he could've lived without the scare touching him and finding heat radiating from his skin had given him.

"Look," he sighed after a moment, willing to try this at least one last time, "you stay here, okay? I'm going to go get a thermometer... check my medicine cabinet for-"

 _"No!"_ Ed cried again, lunging forwards to grab his hand before he'd even made it off the bed. Cold metal grabbed around his arm, fingers digging so tightly they bruised, so tight he was almost tugged over onto his back. Before he'd even balanced himself Ed had grappled for his shoulders, trying to lunge upwards and and steady himself in the same move. "I said I'm fine! Let me go!"

"Ed, you're not- _Edward!"_

"I'm fine! _"_ he gasped again- but he wasn't. Not in the slightest. "I'm _fine_ , Mustang-"

But these words, said from the floor as he fought to climb back to his feet again, hands shaking and face red with fever, weren't persuasive at all.

Roy knelt down beside him, trying to block out the soft, plaintive protests to his proximity. As wrong as this was, with Ed like this, he couldn't very well afford to just sit there dumbly and wait until he'd calmed down. He was going to have to work past this as gently as he could, and just- just hope and pray this didn't turn into last night all over again. "Ed," he said softly, leaning just close enough that Ed wouldn't be able to ignore him. Very slowly, he let his hands fall onto the kid's shoulders, trying to get him used to being touched before he started to lift him back up again. "Ed. Listen to me. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I'm not going to do anything you're not okay with. All I want is to help you here."

There was absolutely no response.

Again moving slowly, Roy swallowed back his fear and began to gently lift Ed up. Even with the automail, he was still thin enough it was no exertion at all; he was able to move slowly, just bringing him up inch by inch until he could sit him on the side of the bed. The kid still hung his head, panting wetly and trembling, not even trying to pull away from his hands... he looked like he was in shock. His amber eyes were wide and bright, not just with fever but fear all over again, but Roy was given no choice but to just keep going, tugging the blankets back into place and helping him to lie down. "You're going to be fine, Ed. I promise."

"No... medicine." He tried to kick in vain at the blankets again, weak and almost pitiful; his flushed face contorted in revulsion and anguish, turning in the sheets. "I'm fine... I don't need it, Mustang... I d-don't need it... please..."

"...Okay, Ed. No medicine."

"...no medicine," Ed mumbled again- and this time, when his eyes closed, he didn't open them again.

* * *

That night was long, and hard.

Ed faded in and out of sleep, sometimes delirious, sometimes not. He never slept deeply enough for nightmares, but the trade off was so bad he almost would've preferred the alternative; he was constantly restless, kicking and mumbling, moaning pleas for his brother so tortured he almost couldn't bear it. Roy spent a full hour just trying to get him to eat something, pushing the plate at him over and over until he found himself nearly _begging_ him to just take a single bite. It was even more difficult to get him to take the thermometer, since, no matter his promise to Ed, if the fever got high enough he _would_ be taking him to a doctor. Thankfully, it didn't seem it was going to get to that point- but when it was already a miracle Ed was here with him and alive, he wasn't about to risk jeopardizing that due to something like this.

He sat up beside him as the hours ticked by, alternating between forcing his way through old alchemic journals to keep himself awake and trying to calm Ed. One would think, in his condition, he'd be only too glad to stay in bed and rest- but Ed, of course, had to make things difficult.

"No medicine," he promised exhaustedly, for surely the dozen time that night, as he pushed a glass of water at Ed's trembling hand. He was trying to get him to drink a little every time he woke up, but Ed was becoming increasingly resistant, fighting him more and more to be let out of bed. "No medicine. Just water, Ed."

The alchemist groaned, nervous eyes darting between him and the glass. "...not sick..." he mumbled, a plaintive, almost whimpered lie, and Roy sighed.

"Yeah. Okay. Sure, you're not sick. I believe you." He pushed the glass at him again, just barely managing to keep the irritation out of his voice with that one. "But everyone needs water, right? Just- just _take_ it, Ed. Come on."

This only earned him another suspicious look, Ed now wavering as he struggled to lean back against the headboard. He narrowed his tired eyes, staring between him and the water- then finally, _finally_ reached out his automail hand, trying to grasp for it. "Not s-sick," he insisted blearily again- then finally accepted the glass and tilted it back against his mouth.

Roy sighed in relief. "Of course you're not," he said quietly, hopefully soothingly, and sat there to watch as he sloppily swallowed a gulp or two. Some spilled messily out over his chin, but Ed barely seemed to notice, accepting another swallow and draining most of the glass before slumping back against the headboard, head bowed and eyes half-lidded. Carefully, Roy pulled the glass from his slack hand, setting it down safely to be attended to later, then reverted his attention back to Ed. He looked like he was falling asleep again, head lolling, and Roy took the opportunity to feel his temperature again before reaching for the blanket. It felt a little lower than before. Good.

He sat silently then, just looking at him as he shivered quietly in his sleep, restless and uneasy. "Just why are you so afraid of being sick?" he asked aloud, more to himself than anything else.

Ed blinked his eyes open a little, sleepy gaze turning uncertain as it landed on him. Roy stiffened- he'd thought Ed was completely out of it again- but said nothing as Ed tilted his head, blinking again. "...I'm not stupid, Mustang," he half mumbled, half slurred, and surprisingly alert. "I know what happens to... to the ones who get sick."

_...to the ones who get sick...?_

Roy sat very still, nervously weighing his options. On one hand, taking advantage of the situation like this felt very, very wrong; he should wait until Ed was ready to talk about whatever he'd been through, not trick it out of him. But, on the other... Ed wasn't telling him _anything_ , and surely, if he knew even just a little he'd be able to help him better...

He leaned forward, meeting his eyes and lowering his voice to be just a soft, non-threatening whisper. "What happens to the ones who get sick, Ed?"

Ed rolled his head again, looking very much unbothered by all of this, like he wanted to just go back to sleep now. As worrying as the words were to _Roy,_ Ed didn't seem disturbed by it at all. The alchemist squinted and frowned, still shivering even when Roy carefully dragged the blanket higher over him, then just looked away. "Don't pretend you don't know. They die. They... you kill... them..."

"Who kills them, Ed? Edward, who kills them?" _I'll kill those bastards myself if they're the ones who did this to you. Tell me who, damn it, just tell me WHO.  
_

Ed's frown, a small, confused little thing, deepened. He shifted in the blankets, hot face twitching as he tugged his blankets closer, shivering. "You- ...you..." He squinted again, eyes bleary and uncertain. Slowly, jerkily, he raised one trembling, flesh hand to bluntly pat at Roy's face, feeling over the eyepatch and patting at it like he didn't even know what it was. "Oh. It's... you."

"...yeah. It's... me."

_So... just who did you think I was?_

Ed stared at him a moment longer, blinking. He left his hot hand on his face, staring vacantly, for a moment so empty and hollow he could've been a corpse.

Then he dropped his hand back to his lap, and curled up down after it, pressing himself away against the mattress it was as if he wanted to melt into it and never be seen again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered suddenly after a moment, still not looking at Roy, indeed, voice almost inaudible as it came out muffled against the sheets. "I know you don't... deserve... it w-wasn't you. I don't..." His tired eyes nervously lifted onto him again, uncertain- almost frightened. "You're not s-supposed to be... protecting... I don't understand? Why would protect me... w-why would you... _d-do_ this...? That's n-not what you're- supposed to do-!"

"Ed..."

"I want to hate you. This... I can't... it's s-so much easier if I can... can blame you. But you w-won't let it... let me..." He mumbled something else, something faint, something... not Amestrian. It sounded harsher, the syllables not as smooth, the lilt just off enough for him to know he really wasn't imagining it- it was a different language all together.

His mind went back to the night before, to the strange and foreign words Ed had screamed at him as he'd pinned him to the ground, and he swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Ed suddenly gasped again. He curled even tighter to wrap his arms around himself, flinching away from Roy almost to hide on the bed, trembling in something other than cold and fever. "I'm... sorry. So sorry. He executed... executed... but it was my fault. It was because of me, and I- I s-should've stopped it! I could've! I could've done something- anything! Al- my fault- they _executed_ him... and th-then... _I_ executed... the gun... I just- s-shot and shot him until he quit moving- he was dead- and Al- Al was-"

He choked off suddenly, voice breaking as he sunk down to cover his head, dry sobbing into the blanket. "They all died. They're all dead. Everyone's dead. Everyone's... they're all _dead_. All of them. H-hundreds, every day... Al, Al, infants, innocents, everyone, everyone's gone-... I shot- I watched- a million- they're... all _dead..._ "

...

A million... were all...

Dead?

_God, Ed... what in the hell did you live through?_

"I'm... sorry..."

The sheer anguish in his voice flooded him with ice, shot through his heart, and ripped it in two, all in one decisive blow.

He suddenly felt very, very wrong about manipulating these words out of Ed like this, and wished even more he could take it back.

But there was no unringing this bell, and all Roy could do was listen to these stricken words and try to fix them in with what little he'd already known of Ed's ordeal. He tried to make them work, tried to fix them into a cohesive whole that could explain how Ed had come to be like this and how Al had died, tried to fix them into something he could use to help Ed- but he just couldn't.

Nothing he could think of was bad enough to explain it. Nothing he had ever seen or heard of in the natural world could _ever_ create something so horrific as what he said now.

Slowly, Roy pushed himself forwards, pulling his legs up to move further onto the bed. He sat at Ed's back, staring down at his distraught face, his broken eyes, his wretched breaths, each and every tortured word ringing in his ears like a scream. The recount sounded almost.. _insane_ , driven mad with misery, impossible in its anguish..

And real.

However little of this he understood, he had no doubt that Ed had lived this. He'd lived it all.

As impossible as he found it for such suffering to exist in this world, Ed had endured it.

His next words tumbled out of him nearly against his will, falling from his lips without rhyme, reason, or even sanity.

"Was it Hell, Ed, where you were? ...Was it Hell?"

Because such suffering could surely exist nowhere else.

A lifetime ago- a year ago- even just a month ago, Roy never could've asked or believed in such a question. God, heaven, and hell were for those who needed to believe there was a purpose in it all, a cosmic guideline of right and wrong with a score that would always come to be settled, in the end. Ishval had rid him of any such designs.

There was too much pain in this world to ever be righted.

But listening to Ed now...what else was he supposed to believe? He knew Ed had been in some other world, a world not thought possible before by the laws of science and alchemy. He knew Ed and Al had been in the hands of someone who had hurt them, _badly,_ despite the two alchemists being such a strong team he would've bet there was no one they couldn't beat. That what they had been through was so horrible it had Ed startled and frightened like a beaten animal, lashing out and screaming, traumatized and in pain- and grieving, always, grieving.

Whatever torture it was he'd been through in this horrific other world, the one that had dropped him screaming and alone at his feet, whatever crime had ripped his brother away from him and coated him in shame and terror, blood and guilt... whatever tragedy had careened yet again into the Elrics' lives, destroying and devastating them for the final, most irrecoverable time...

It wasn't just terrible, in its cruelty. It was inhumane.

Even the inherent chaos of humanity's free willed depravity could not have created something like this.

And for the first time since he was twenty, and stood with the blood of an entire people on his hands, Roy wondered if there could really be a higher power after all.

_Was it Hell?_

Ed had gone still at the question, now just watching him with heavy-lidded, tired eyes. There was no anguish in his expression any longer, just exhaustion. He just stared at Roy for a long time, blinking at him, tiny, wet breaths the only break of the quiet in the darkness, unmoving, uncaring, and silent.

Then, he finally just turned his face back into the sheets, and shut his eyes.

"Hell doesn't exist, Mustang. It doesn't need to. Us humans? We make our own."


	6. F is for Fight and Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update; my wifi went out. If something like this ever happens in the future, check my profile on ff.net to see why it's late and when you can expect the next update. Also, 7 /may/ go up a little earlier, since this chapter here is honestly a filler chapter and we all want to get to the plot. But we will see. Thank you all for commenting, it's such a joy and honor for me to read them, and I hope you enjoy this update!

"Take the pill."

"No."

"Take it."

"I said no."

"Edward Elric, for the love of god, take the fucking thing before I crush it up in your milk and force it in you."

"...fuck you."

But, he took the small white pill, and that had really been all that Roy had been asking for.

"Don't know you're so fucking insistent, or _concerned,"_ Ed nearly growled at him once the pill was gone, like it was a cosmic insult that Roy should be _concerned_ about him. "I've dealt with this shit for months. Your Aspirin isn't gonna do anything, Mustang."

Roy groaned, because, god, it would just be too easy for Ed to let one single thing go, wouldn't it? "Well, Ed, I don't see how exactly you can be mad at me for this, seeing as I know _next to nothing_ about _anything_ that is going on here." It was said with a pointed glance, as if trying to bait Ed into finally opening his mouth and explaining any part of the story that had led to him materializing in his living room, starved, distraught, and covered in blood.

Ed opened his mouth, all right- only to shove his next bite of breakfast in there.

Roy sighed.

"...and it's not Aspirin," he muttered sullenly, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "I wouldn't waste your time with that. It's strong enough to actually do something." His eye lingered on what little of the automail ports that he could see. Though Ed wouldn't talk about it, or admit to any pain, Roy could see with his own eye the broken wires buried under his skin and exposed, sharp bits of metal digging into his shoulder and thigh... it had to be excruciating. Ever since his return, Roy had been giving his own pain medication to Ed, some mornings begging, cajoling, pleading, whatever he could think of- others, just refusing to take no for an answer until the petulant brat gave in.

Luckily, he'd somehow managed to avoid, so far, questions about just why he had such heavy duty painkillers sitting around his medicine cabinet.

It had now been several weeks since the night Ed had gotten sick, and the shower incident. He didn't things had really gotten any worse, with Ed- but he would also hesitate to say they had gotten any better. And that worried him.

Ed's physical condition had improved by miles, at least. He ate without needing to be forced or even prompted, devouring whatever was put in front of him without complaint and filling out to finally start to look simply underweight, rather than teetering out the edge of starvation. His emotional state had stabilized, too, the better he'd gotten, confirming Roy's hypothesis that one of the reason he'd been so upset before was that he'd been so weak and vulnerable; he'd finally stopped fighting him so desperately and trying to run from his home. He'd gotten stronger and more capable very quickly, and so, on a purely physical front, Roy's worries were finally being put to rest.

And only on that front.

He still wouldn't talk to Roy, about anything. Not how his brother died, not how he'd been hurt- not even the hopefully mundane, alchemic question on how the hell he'd returned to Amestris at all. He still avoided him often, clinging to his automail blade like a security blanket and only appearing for meals. And to make matters worse, he'd started having nightmares, too, painful affairs jerking Roy out of sleep in the middle of the night by miserable moans to run back and wake him up. He'd jolt out of bed thrashing and violent, gasping words in a language he didn't know and more than once had actually hit him, pounding so hard with metal limbs he found himself with bruises to explain the next day. He'd yell his brother's name, distraught and terrified- but never once had he explained anything to him about what had happened in the other world.

Shutting his eye for a brief moment, Roy wrenched himself back on track. Of all things, _this_ wasn't going to help him get through to Ed. Rather, he leaned forward on his elbows, watching Ed through a narrowed eye. "Speaking of," he went on warily, clearing his throat. "Your automail, Edward."

As if he could already tell, with that word alone, where this conversation was going, Ed tensed.

"My automail's none of your damn business," he muttered, but instead of petulant resistance, this time, Roy caught a quiet undercurrent of fear.

Remembering the last time he'd seen such a thing from Ed, and ignored it, Roy cautiously pushed his chair an inch back and thought very carefully about what he was going to say next.

"Be that as it may." He tapped a finger on the table, trying to get Ed to look up at him. "I'm only missing just the one eye. I can easily see it doesn't work. I'd like to-"

"It works just _fine,_ you ass," and suddenly he was hissing the words out, anger tense in every line of his fragile, healing form. His human fist clenched on the table while the metal blade thunked at the wood, denting it with the sharp, rusted edge. "I can do whatever I have to, so you just shut your fucking-"

"Are you even strong enough to have it attached now?" Roy cut in exasperatedly. "You can barely stand; I don't imagine an added hundred pounds of deadweight metal is helping anything. Ed, all I'm saying-"

He broke off.

Ed was shaking.

Not in rage, either.

Roy's next breath was a calming one, and he lowered his voice, softening into something he could only hope Ed would understand was not a threat.

"All I'm saying is, I'd like for you to consider detaching it. You don't even have to let me help if you don't want, you can do it all yourself." He didn't mention why he knew that; didn't want Ed to know just how long he'd been reading up on automail for to prepare for this discussion. "It'd only be for a little while..."

But Ed was still shaking, head bowed and eyes hidden with his long hair that still had never seen a shower but entire body trembling as if Roy was leading him to his execution. The blade shook against the table, almost dangerously so, and he stared from it to Ed's desperately guarded features, feeling his heart pound. "Ed." He leaned forward again, raising a hand as if to touch him before the sheer stupidity of such a move hit him in the next moment. "Ed, I'm not going to force you. You understand that, right? It's your choice. I'm only suggesting- but if you don't want to do it, you don't have to."

Roy waited several seconds, hoping that the realization that he wasn't going to be forced into anything would help get him to listen to reason, or at least calm down. When neither came, he sighed, knowing he had no option for now but to retreat. Maybe once he backed off and Ed got the chance to relax, he'd consider this more rationally. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, doing up the buttons on his uniform jacket and tugging out the rumples, to make clear he was going to leave.

On his way out, however, a small, very tiny possibility of an idea hit him for the first time in days.

He hesitated.

Then, ignoring all of the chance that this might go badly, Roy turned back, forced a smile, and spoke.

"If you let your automail go, we could send it to a mechanic, get it patched- ah. Well. Now that I think about it, suppose not." He manipulated the smile into a smirk, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat when Ed finally lifted his head up a little to watch him, dislike veiled with confusion. "You'd need to get measurements taken again for that, wouldn't you? After all- looks like even pipsqueaks can grow an inch or two."

Pause.

Waiting.

Waiting, for...

_God, Ed, please flip out. Please just start yelling at me. Please throw a fit and scream about who am I calling so short he'd drown in a puddle. Please, please just do something normal._

_Please._

For several moments, there was absolutely no reaction. It was as if time itself had frozen.

Then, Ed looked up.

His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and every bit of that previous anger melted away- and it twisted into a shock so heartwrenchingly deep, he gasped.

"Ed- Ed, I-"

"What?"

"I-..."

"What did you say?" Ed stared at him, stunned and nearly wordless. His voice was weak with shock, so surprised it was as if Roy had just punched him in the face. "W... what did you just say?"

This wasn't going to go well, then.

"...I called you short," he stammered faintly, staring. He'd known Ed flipping out and yelling like usual was a bit too much to ask for from him, but _this?_ What even _was_ this?

A tiny, uncertain noise came from his throat. It wasn't words at all, expressing an emotion that went deeper than that as he stumbled up and staggered back on a shaky metal leg, staring at him now like he had just murdered his brother right in front of him. He looked like he had no idea what to think, like with that simple comment, Roy had just reached in and broken his brain, and now there was no turning it back on. He moved slowly away until his back hit the far wall and then just stood there to stare at him, eyes wide and face wiped completely blank.

Fuck, fuck, this had gone _wrong._ This could not have gone wronger. "Ed," he started again, but for all his good intentions was just utterly lost. How could what he'd said have prompted this? He'd barely even insulted him- but now- god, now he looked like he was in the middle of a mental breakdown for absolutely no reason and all Roy knew was that it was his fault. "Ed, I-" What? He was sorry? For _what?_

"What? You can't- what? But that's not what you're supposed to... supposed to do... are you just gonna be- fucking _normal_ \- like everything's okay? What-" Ed suddenly whipped his head violently from side to side, nearly choking on the words as he slammed a hand to his face, rubbing desperately over it like he wanted to scratch his skin off. _"_ No, no no, that's not... right. I don't understand, why would you be like this-? Why would you- _that's not how this is supposed to work!"_ _  
_

He jerked suddenly, shoving himself off the wall for the words to dissolve into nothing. He stumbled and limped for the door like his life depended on it. He staggered forwards to shove past Roy, so plainly only wanting an escape-

And Roy, for the first time, decided not to let him go.

He caught onto Ed's arm just as he hurtled past, both stopping him from running and holding him upright, when just that small jostling was nearly enough to unbalance him to the floor. Gently but firmly, Roy swung him around, holding him against the wall- and when Ed's eyes dilated in sheer terror and he pressed away, panicked, he loosened his hold but did not allow himself to back off, no matter how his insides twisted at the sight.

"Let me go, _let me go you piece of-"_

"No." He kept his hold as gentle as he could but didn't dare let up or back away. "Ed, I'm not going to hurt or force you, but you have to tell me what's wrong. This isn't normal."

Because this _wasn't_ normal, was it? Roy knew no one reacted to trauma or losing someone in the same way, but had gone through it enough times himself, and seen others do the same, to know that the way Ed was reacting _was not_ normal. He wasn't supposed to be so fragile and on edge all it took was one halfhearted comment to send him spiraling into a breakdown like this. He wasn't supposed to still be so frightened weeks after the fact all Roy had to do was halfway even _look_ at him the wrong way to send him trying to run for his life.

The way Ed was reacting wasn't normal, and Roy was finally done pretending that it was.

Ed shoved and fought him, beyond words but gasping in either terror or rage, and Roy just forced himself to hold still and determined he would not let go until Ed had calmed down. Too many times had he watched Ed lose it and retreat like this, running away to slam the door in his face no matter what he tried to do to help. Roy understood wanting to be alone when like that, understood that more than anyone, but there had to come a point where it stopped. There had to come a point where he didn't allow it anymore. This _wasn't_ normal, and letting Ed do as he wanted was only ending in him falling apart more by the day.

He had to know what had happened.

Just as the night he had appeared, screaming and bloody in his living room, Ed still wasn't strong enough to fight free. He'd healed some, but not enough to overpower an adult twice his size with twice the number of functioning limbs. Roy had his barely working metal wrist pinned to the wall, and the alchemist lashed out still but his desperate punches, the kid still weak and healing, did little more than smart and bruise. He could tell Ed was fighting him on instinct alone, desperate to be free and reacting the only way he knew how... and all Roy was able to do was wait it out.

He waited.

Until finally, when Ed's next punch glanced off and fell just as useless as all the others, rather than punch again, he slumped with his limp arm, doubling over as if that was the blow to have taken all the life out of him. The burnished terror, bright in his frantic eyes, faded into an exhausted, anguished horror. His head dropped, gaze burning into the floor, and hanging limply like that, looked so painfully defeated Roy honestly couldn't stand it.

"Ed," he said softly, daring to give him a gentle shake. "This isn't okay. You're _not_ okay." He loosened the hold on his arm, supporting him now and not pinning him. "What happened? Why did you just react like that? What did I do?"

Ed just hung there, shaking against the wall, his breaths ragged and his long, loose hair shadowing his face. He couldn't see his eyes any more, so slumped over and broken, but he didn't fight him any longer.

Roy almost thought he would've preferred it if he had, because this limp and empty shell, radiating such exhausted pain it was breathtaking, was almost unbearable to see.

"You called me short," he mumbled finally, head still down. "...He would never have done that."

"...He, who?"

Ed held very, very still. "...You... wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Taking a chance, Roy gently released Ed at last, carefully inching his arm back. Like he'd been all that was holding it up, the metal arm _thunked_ heavily down, dropping to his side so quickly the alchemist winced with pain, but not even a hint of the discomfort showed on his hollow features. Progress. Progress, for the first time in weeks. He swallowed tightly, heart pounding. _Don't you dare fuck this up, you useless idiot._ "It's been a long time since I've been underestimated that badly, Ed."

The alchemist didn't look at him, didn't even raise his eyes from the ground. Something showed in his expression though, some faint shift, a tightening in his jaw, a faint shudder rolling through him... and then he just shook his head, pulling back to hug himself tightly as if Roy was about to strike him. "I can't tell you now." He still didn't really look at Roy, but he lifted his gaze just enough for Roy to catch a glimpse of the shaken, uncertain light in his eyes. "It's- you have to leave. You have to go, or you'll be late. Hawkeye..." He shifted, voice hollow and soft. "You said you had to."

Roy froze, shocked and suddenly upset. _That?_ That was what was stopping him? Something mundane and trivial like being late to work? Instantly, Roy wanted to tell him he was insane, that he'd never weigh a day at the office over Ed, and god, especially not when he was like this-

But the dammed brat was right.

Hawkeye was already suspicious, watching him closer at work and narrowing her eyes at him whenever he excused away a bruise or got distracted for too long or left early. If he called in sick again, or, even worse, just didn't show, she _would_ be coming over here whether he asked for it or not. She had taken it as her personal mission to ensure the black depression he'd tumbled into when Ed had been declared dead never happened again- sometimes, that meant ignoring his orders, intruding into his home, and browbeating him into appropriate behavior.

Something very praiseworthy, whether he appreciated it or not- most of the time.

And something that would end extremely badly now.

Roy swallowed hard, and, for far from the first time in his life, cursed Hawkeye and her efficiency.

"Okay," he forced out tensely, shoulders tight. He took another step back but held Ed's gaze as best as the alchemist let him to, not wanting to let him get the idea through his thick skull that this wasn't important to him. "You're right. I can't stay right now. I'm sorry, I can't. ...Tonight, Ed. You'll tell me tonight."

Part of him still screamed not to leave; part of him still screamed that if he left now, when he came back tonight Ed would've changed his mind and he'd be greeted to a slammed door and more yelling and insults. He didn't want to back off now, not when this was the very first time he'd made progress ever since Ed's return...

But he didn't have a choice.

Somehow, when he at last got a small, withdrawn nod, Ed's gaze still averted and his entire form so tense he looked about to run any second, he didn't feel any better.

* * *

Work was the grating, irritating nuisance it had become, lately. His men all quietly, uncomfortably did their work with avoided glances, not cued in to what was going on but definitely aware that _something_ wasn't right. Hawkeye monitored him to the point he sometimes felt like a misbehaving child... the new bruise, mostly obscured under his eyepatch but the swelling still obvious, not helping matters.

He watched the clock with every hour, itching to leave and counting down the minutes to the end of the day. He diligently filed every last form, waited quietly like a good soldier through each meeting; even tolerated Hawkeye hauling him to the officer's mess even though he _utterly_ lacked an appetite. He sat there, tapped his foot, and watched the clock- and the moment the second hand ticked past six, he was on his feet.

Hawkeye's sharp gaze lifted from her work immediately, quietly suspicious. "General," she started, watching him intently.

"You have a good evening, Major," he cut in quietly, and didn't so much as look at her as he left the office.

He ignored the quiet twinge of guilt in his chest the whole while.

He'd hurt Hawkeye more than enough over the years. Over and over again, worse and worse and _worse_ past the point of forgiveness. And yet, no matter how many times he promised himself he wouldn't do it again-

He just hurt her all over again, and she, as always, would forgive him for it.

And as always, what choice did he have? He had to get home. With any luck, whatever conviction had settled into Ed this morning would still be there tonight, and he'd finally learn just what had happened to him- why Al was dead and Ed was so... broken. He'd finally learn how to help him. Ed was most important right now. His focus had to be on him...

Even if it was worrying the hell out of Hawkeye, and the longer this went on, the more he knew that worry turned into hurt.

_That's your talent, isn't it. That's what you cause. Ed... Riza... this is what you're best at. Ruining things. Hurting people._

_You're useless._

And, because he'd never learned how to do anything else, he quietly endured through the guilt growing into an awful weight of lead inside him, and kept on walking.

* * *

Ed was asleep when he got home, curled up under a blanket on his couch, half-open alchemy text serving as both a pillow and recipient for drool. Most of his face and his entire body was hidden under the thin throw, and Roy only took one look at him before deciding to wait to wake him. The alchemist never would admit it, but he still tired easily and needed all the sleep he could get. He'd make them both something to eat, his usual course of action whenever he came home to find Ed mid-nap, and then go from there.

One good thing about all of this, he reflected wryly, was that Ed's presence had forced him to stop skipping meals.

A half hour later, stomach still twisting itself into small knots at the thought of the conversation that was to come, Roy walked quietly out into his dark living room, the smell of Xingese stir fry following him from his kitchen. Ed was still asleep- looked, in fact, as he hadn't so much as moved. He was still slumped in the corner of his couch, fingers curled around the very edge of his blanket, and for a moment, Roy went still.

Ed was a fully grown adult now, but even when Roy had first met him as a hollow-eyed, crippled boy, he'd not been anywhere near so innocent or naive he could've been called a child. And yet, now, a good ten years later, malnourished, haunted, metal-limbed, and horrifically _alone_ in this world... he couldn't put his finger on it, exactly, what made this Ed so different from the hollow-eyed boy who had looked up at him from that wheelchair in Risembool- but there was a difference. That sight back then; it had enraged him so much he'd hauled Ed up into the air and shouted at him, demanded to know what horrible things he had done and that he atone for his crimes. Perhaps that was it. The Ed he'd met back then had infuriated him so much _because_ he'd stared at him with hopeless, lost eyes- but Roy had known the truth. He'd known Ed wasn't a hopeless, lost cause, and that he could make up for his mistakes and earn back what he'd lost.

And now...

Now, as much as it felt like a terrible, disgusting betrayal to even admit it- as much as he knew Al would _kill_ him for saying it-

Now, this Ed here, felt hopeless to him.

It felt like that Al had taken anything his brother had to live for when he'd died, and Roy was left behind to just slowly watch Ed waste away after him.

Roy swallowed tightly, trying very hard not to let himself think any further about such things, and returned his focus down to the kid slumbering peacefully on his couch, hands wrapped around his blanket and mouth even turned up in a little smile.

"Ed," he called quietly, reaching a hand down to touch his flesh shoulder. That smile, he knew, was going to disappear the moment Ed regained consciousness. "Ed, wake up."

Ed shifted. His face creased, brow furrowing and the corner of his mouth pulling down. A flash of amber flickered open beneath his hair, bleary with sleep. He blinked sleepily, and then his eyes focused on him.

He punched him in the face.

The blow slammed into him so fast and out of the blue Roy had no time to prepare, either to dodge, block, even brace himself. One moment he was sitting there, relaxed and calm, and the next instant he was hurtled backwards and head slammed against the floor.

And Ed was on his feet, clap already echoing throughout the room as the broken metal arm became a blade.

Dazed by the blow, head ringing, every inch of him loose with shock, Roy just lay there on the floor, gasping. He could hear Ed's startled intake of breath and knew, somehow he _knew,_ he had to get up. It had been an accident. Ed hadn't been having a nightmare, he'd just- he didn't know what had happened but it wasn't on purpose. It couldn't have been. He couldn't really think beyond that, just knew Ed couldn't have meant it, obviously he couldn't have, so what he needed to do now was get up and go over there to calm him down and comfort him-

But his head still rang and, winded, he couldn't so much as drag himself up off the floor.

In that moment, all Roy could think of was the look on Ed's face when he'd hit him.

He hadn't been scared.

It hadn't been a nightmare. It hadn't been an unconscious reaction from fear. He hadn't been trying to protect himself. It hadn't been a flashback.

Ed had looked at him, _recognized him_ , and hit him.

He'd not been scared. He had been angry. Furious.

Ed had looked at him, recognized him- and in that one dark moment, that instant before his fist had slammed into his face... had hated him.

Another panicked gasp reached his ears and Roy shook, a vicious tremor shooting down his spine. He didn't understand, his head rang; all he knew was to help Ed as he drunkenly shoved himself upright, one hand clutching over his eyepatch, the other reaching forward to the horrified, trembling boy in the corner.

"Ed," he gasped, desperate.

Ed took one look at him, obviously shaken, agonized, and stricken with guilt- and took off running.

He was out of the house before Roy could even make it to his feet.


	7. G is for Glaube

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glaube: German for Trust

Roy searched for three hours.

It had started raining after one, and dropped below freezing after two.

Nearing on three, and part of him was thoroughly convinced that he had driven a still weakened, frightened, recovering Ed out into this, and he had frozen to death, and all he was going to find was a dead body.

By the time Roy did find Ed, he was soaked through to the bone, and himself was shivering so badly he could barely stay upright- and he was _without_ two metal limbs to chill him. His eyepatch clung to his face, damp and freezing; his socks were soggy and _squished_ with every step; rivulets of water ran down his face and neck until he was so wet he barely felt the rain.

And he was so anxious, shaken, and almost terrified, that at the sight of the alchemist, thin, slumped, and unmoving, for a heartbeat, he really did think he was dead.

He'd seen corpses that looked better than him.

It was still raining. A deluge strong enough to soak him to the bone and puddle on the ground, a drizzle just weak enough to leave his search only miserable and not impossible. It was nearing ten at night, so dark the only reason he'd found his way at all the streetlamps behind him, their wavering spotlights on the cracked asphalt the only illumination left for him in the wet, black darkness that covered Central so thickly it suffocated it. He was in one of the worst parts of the city, just four miles from his overly nice house where decorated generals were expected to live and out to cracked sidewalks, dilapidated alleys, and crumbling overhangs.

And it was there, chilled, dripping, and more terrified than he'd been in years, that Roy found Ed.

He lay sprawled on the cold ground, abandoned and alone like a stray dog or unwanted pet. Curled around himself, pitifully alone, disturbingly like a child. Propped up against the dirty, rainslicked wall, metal leg and arm splayed out at awkward, terrifyingly limp angles like they weren't even attached to him at all anymore; like an old, worn out doll carelessly tossed aside into the mud by an angry child. The tarnished metal limbs hid in the darkness, once polished, proud automail now ugly and rusted, almost black under the rain. The ruined, soaked nightshirt clung to him, tattered now and stained with mud. He was shivering, dripping hair plastered over his face and body trembling in the cold and the rain...

God, he looked dead.

"Edward," he called hoarsely, heart pounding in his chest so hard he nearly couldn't breathe.

The alchemist flinched away from him, and buried his face in his arm a little more.

He walked slowly forward, soaked, only socked feet splashing in the puddles of the alley. A foot away from him, Roy stared down helplessly, working to swallow the lump in his throat- then just dropped stiffly to his shaking knees and wrapped his arms around him.

Ed didn't fight him. He didn't resist or stiffen. He was as still as a rag doll, cold and soaked in his arms. The metal limbs were so chilled they burned against him, and the rest of him was so limp he really could've been dead.

And all Roy knew to do was just hold him tighter.

"You don't do this," he choked at last. "You don't get to do this, Ed." He froze for just one moment, battling the parts of him that said _no, no Roy, this is about Ed, don't make this about yourself and your fuck ups, Roy, shut up, don't do this to him, not now,_ but he was so _desperate_ he just did not have it in him to stay silent. "You don't run off. I don't- I don't _care_ what you do, all right? I don't care if you hit me or break my house or- I don't- I don't _care,_ Ed _._ Do whatever you want. You can do anything that you want to me but just don't- d-don't _leave._ " His voice broke, pathetic desperation shattering on the last word, and all he could do was sit there and hold him close even as his heart skipped a terrified beat at the very thought. "You don't get to leave. Okay? I'll give you whatever I can, anything that you want, need- but you're not allowed to go like this! You _don't leave_ me, Ed. You're-... y-you can't leave us _again!_ "

The rain pounded miserably overhead, and Ed remained silent.

And all Roy knew was that Ed couldn't go.

He couldn't leave. He couldn't go. He couldn't vanish from his home and never be seen again-

He could not _do this_ to him again.

Ed- still shivering violently, he realized, and tightened his hold, pressing him to him to warm him up- turned his face away. His hair his expression, and he still held almost painfully motionless against him; Roy's heart shuddered.

"...why are you here?"

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, the one that had the potential to turn into a sob. His head shook in bewildered, anguished shock, and then he pressed his face to Ed's hair, a desperate and panicked gasp ripped from his throat.. "What'd you _expect_ me to do?" he gasped. "Just let you leave? Let you run away, not even look for you?!"

"...I... hit you."

A weak, frantic laugh burst free, almost lost to the drizzling rain around them. "I don't care. I don't care." And he didn't, was the thing; he realized that now as he never had before. Ed could quite literally beat him half to death and leave him unconscious on his floor, and he wouldn't give it a damn. There was nothing Ed could do to make him want to see that boy gone. "Ed, you could willfully burn my house down and I wouldn't care! Just- just- you _can't do this!"_

He wouldn't survive it a second time.

"You're putting up with me." Ed shrunk in on himself a tiny bit, face and eyes still hidden. "I've... done so much _shit._ I d-don't understand... w-why you're still putting up with m-me."

"Ed, I don't care."

"...it was an accident," Ed whispered finally, voice small. He still didn't move, either to pull away or push him back, and after the last three heartwrenching hours, Roy didn't have the strength to force himself to do it either. "I didn't know it was y-you. It... it was an accident."

Roy hesitated.

"...No. It wasn't," he murmured at last, squeezing his eye shut. "You knew who I was. You knew what you were doing. I just don't care, Ed." He didn't know why Ed was trying to lie. He'd been shoved, hit, outright punched in the face many times now, since Ed's return; sometimes accidents, in the course of flashbacks or nightmares- and sometimes, not. This was the first time Ed had made any kind of reference to not intending to hurt him. He didn't know why this was so different than the others to him- and, miraculously, in that moment, he found that he did not care.

All that mattered to him was the fact that Ed was here in his arms now, because it meant Ed wasn't going to leave again.

Ed was still.

"...I didn't know," he whispered finally, and shut his eyes.

Roy sighed.

"You can't move your automail at all, can you?" he asked at last. He leaned back a few inches to narrow his eye down at him, squinting past his dripping bangs to the trembling form still clutched close to him.

It was hardly a question, but Ed stiffened anyway, turning his face even more away. He shut his eyes and curled back, shivering harder now and face contorting. He looked absolutely _miserable._

He swallowed hard again. This was not going to be easy. "I'll carry you." Roy didn't move for several moments, both preparing himself and allowing Ed to get used to the idea himself. Unlike before, when it was clearly broken and causing him pain but somewhat usable, his automail looked completely limp now. He didn't know if it was the water or the abuse Ed had done to it running out like this, but the metal limbs were now completely dead.

With a deep breath, Roy shifted his hold, no looser but now holding him in preparation to stand. He knew Ed didn't want this, but there was no longer anything else for him to do- and so, with nothing further than that, Roy held him to his chest, and stood.

His scarred, exhausted legs screamed in protest. A shockwave of pain rocked down his bad shoulder and it nearly gave out on him to drop Ed then and there. His head and empty eye socket, already pulsing with old pain, etched up the ache to an agony that sent white stars through his vision and forced his head to spin.

Ed turned away from him, a tiny, anguished sound tearing free from his throat, and shut his tortured, haunted eyes.

  
Art by the lovely [Akarri](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5419659/Akarri)

* * *

For the first time in weeks, Ed did not fight him.

He settled the limp, trembling alchemist back into his bed. Slowly, methodically, Roy undressed him, and helped him get his unmoving automail into a new, dry set of clothes and towel himself off. He wrapped a blanket around his shivering shoulders, fetched him a glass of water, found his painkillers again and felt his heart ache a little more when the kid didn't even resist to swallowing one, then just sat by Ed's side and did his best to look him in the eye.

"Ed," he said quietly. "Your automail needs to be removed now. If the connection with the nerves has been broken or is faulty, it has to be removed as soon as possible in case of electrical problems. I'm going to remove it now. It's not your choice anymore. Do you understand?"

The only word for the miserable sound that came out of Ed then was of a frightened child.

He ducked his head and held himself. He folded over, collapsing forwards with another tiny cry...

And landed to bury his face against Roy's leg.

"You _can't..._ " he moaned tremulously, clutching at him with one shaking hand, "you can't take it from me, you _can't..."_

His heart cracked. Just _cracked_ as easily as that, splitting in two for anguish and regret to flood him from head to toe. "I'm sorry, Ed," he whispered, almost choking on it. He shut his eye tightly, almost unable to bear the sight of him as vulnerable and helpless as this. Eye shut or not, he could still feel the hand digging at his hip, grabbing onto him so hard his heart ached. "I have to. I've given you every leeway with this, but now it could kill you. I _have_ to remove it now."

A tiny, muffled little sound was cried against his leg. But Ed didn't fight him, didn't even resist, like he _knew_ Roy was telling him the truth but just couldn't stand it- and for the first time since his return home, he found himself finally given all of Ed's trust.

That it had to be forced like this, just as much _not_ Ed's choice as it seemed the rest of his life had always been, was almost heartbreaking.

God, he couldn't rip away the automail with him like this.

Hesitantly, like approaching a wounded, frightened animal, Roy gently lowered a hand to rest on top of his head.

Ed moaned again, clutching at his pant leg with one trembling hand.

They sat like that for a long minute, Ed trembling quietly against the sheets, both shivering with the cold and shaking with fear. Roy left his hand over his head, giving him time and patience, but both of them knew this wasn't going away. This wasn't going anywhere. Roy could give him all the time in the world but in the end, this night was still going to end with him, the person Ed wanted here least in the world, painfully removing his limbs and handicapping him like he hadn't been since he was ten years old.

His heart in his throat, Roy began the slow, painstaking process of disconnecting the automail.

The connection of automail required a trained mechanic, surgical tools, and was one of the worst pains a man could go through. The disconnection of it was a procedure that could be completed by the patients themselves, only needed tools from the local hardware store, and, while painful, was not unbearable. Nevertheless, Roy lacked both the training and experience, and his fingers were numb, stiff, and shaking. It took him three times as long as the books had said it would... and Ed was left in pain for three times as long as he had to.

The arm was first. The rusted, limp metal arm he could no longer so much as twitch, eased off of him one bolt and wire at a time, the ports unscrewed straight out of his collarbone. He swore he could smell the rust the more he got it off, and there was an ominous, painful sort of creaking sound when he finally loosened the last bolt, ending any connection it had still had with his shoulder.

The positioning was awkward and difficult, with Ed still curled loosely around his leg and hand buried against his shirt, but Roy never could've had the heart to force him to pull away.

"Al..." Ed whispered, gasping deeply as he carefully eased a steel bolt out from tissue and bone. He jerked and shuddered hard, clutching him convulsively, then moaned it again. " _Al... Alph-phonse...!"_

His stomach twisted with all the gutwrenching pain of being shot.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he begged, voice thick. "I'm going as fast as I can, it's almost done, I'm sorry."

"Al..."

The leg was even harder than his arm, and Ed dry sobbing his brother's name made him take even longer.

When the two limbs were finally safely removed, lying abandoned and useless on the side of the bed, Roy made quick work of bandaging the sluggishly bleeding stumps. Ed lay, exhausted and trembling on his side, and still clutching Roy's leg with all his failing strength.

"I'm sorry," Ed sobbed, but- it wasn't directed at Roy. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't... I never wanted... Al, I'm _sorry."_

"Ed..."

At his voice, Ed gasped again, finally turning his head just enough to stare up at him with wide, horrified eyes. He trembled there, trying to speak several times but each attempt failing into the gasped wheezes of breath, shaking with something deeper than pain. "... _How,"_ he finally cried, guttural and shocked. "How can you-... I don't understand. How can you do this?! H-how- how could _he_ h-have- done that- but _you're_ \- this-... _I don't understand!"_

Neither did Roy.

He was starting to think that he never would.

"...I'm so sorry, Ed," he whispered at last, and, left with no words to say or promises to give, just shut his eye and wrapped his arms back around him. "Whatever I did to you- I'm sorry."

Ed never let him go, or told him what he'd done.

Roy slept in there that night. Ed curled close and clung to his leg like an anchor the entire time.


	8. H is for Handicap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly is to delve into Roy's mental state. CoS showed he ended up with some pretty serious depression, and even in the current decade with good medication, that doesn't just fully go away (even though we always make it so in fanfiction); even though Roy's much better off now, he's not necessarily 'better'. It's also an interlude, of sorts, to give a little break- immediately after this we jump into finally getting that explanation from Ed we've all been waiting for, and for Roy to have even more parental feelings and Ed to finally let him have them ;u; I'm also going to upload next chapter this Wednesday, because this chapter is straight up Roy going 'ahhh oh woe is me' and, necessary as it is, we all really just want to get to parental feels. So. Until Wednesday! :D
> 
> (yeah u thought that depression tag was for ed u thought wrong children)

The instant that Roy woke, he knew that this day was not going to be one that would go well.

It didn't come as a surprise.

It wasn't as if he'd had high hopes for that when he'd gone to sleep the night before.

Ed was still asleep and silent next to him, disturbingly small and vulnerable without his automail. Roy looked quietly down at him, taking in the wholly strange, almost painful look of him for several long moments, then simply looked away, unable to stand the sight.

He narrowed his eye up at the ceiling, forced himself to relax his stiff, aching muscles, and sighed.

Nothing to it except get up, and start the day.

...

Next to him, Ed breathed quietly.

Slowly, Roy shut his eye again.

It took minutes. Minutes, until Ed shifted slightly to his right, still asleep but groaning and wincing a little, obviously in some amount of pain, pain that was only going to get worse. He should get up, he told himself again. He needed to get up. Ed would need him now, more than ever. He couldn't just _lie here._ Ed was going to need food, and painkillers, and a capable adult to help him move wherever he needed to be. He had things he needed to do, and someone who needed _him._ He had to get up.

...

He really had to get up.

...

_Get up, you useless shit._

Roy pried his eye open again.

First was his eyepatch. Easy. Easy. That was simple. That was small. He could do this. Carefully, he dragged the wrinkled, still slightly damp square of cloth off his face, wincing as he finally tore it from the tender scars and the ruined eye socket hit the air. He stretched one arm, digging into his nightstand without looking to withdraw one of his other, mercifully dry, eyepatches. Even moving this much disagreed with him, was an agonizing struggle, but it was a relief to have the scars hidden again, and he dropped last night's wet one on the floor, leaving his arm to hang over the edge of the bed.

 _See?_ he told himself. He could do that much. An easy first step, but the first step was always the most difficult. Once he finally got himself moving, it wasn't as bad. He could do this. He could manage this.

Just like Ed, Roy knew he was only trying to pathetically convince himself.

Behind him, Ed groaned again.

_Get up. Get up. Get UP._

Roy sighed.

Quietly, so as not to disturb Ed, he gingerly pushed himself to sit. It felt like he was being dragged upright like a puppet, strings attached to his limbs to arrange him like a stiff, dead doll, lifting him up when all he had the strength for himself was to curl up in bed and never move again. Only one arm cooperated with him. The left, the one perforated straight through and through by Bradley's blade, protested with waves of agony that beat up and down through the scarred limb that made his head spin. His sides, similarly scarred, and his back, fought him as well, the consequences of pushing forty, laced with muscle damage and scars, and having carried a man that was half-metal home through the pouring rain.

He didn't even have to try to move his legs to know they were in even worse shape than his arm.

The scars almost always hurt a small bit; days like today, however, it was all he could do not to just groan and lay back in bed. But, he no longer had the luxury of just taking a day to himself... so he just dug his cane out from under the bed, gave it a tired, resigned look, and lurched to his feet.

The medication in his medicine cabinet, a mandatory stop on days like this, was next, and he found himself weighing it in his good hand for several moments, frowning at the little white pills. Thanks to the doses he'd been giving Ed, he was almost out, and he hadn't had a chance to refill his prescription. He grimaced, thinking of the tiny, tortured sounds driven free from the alchemist as he unscrewed bolts from his very bones the night before, then just slipped them into his pocket. He'd had worse. He'd give them to Ed.

Now.

Breakfast.

Food.

...

No.

He simply did not have the will today to force himself or care.

He limped around his kitchen, sore and in pain, legs and every exhausted, every defeated _inch_ of him calling for him to just slump to the floor and lie there until he died. He made Ed's breakfast. He didn't let himself sit down, knowing that if he did, there was a chance he wouldn't have the will- or, even physical capability- to get up again. He did what he had to for Ed, and steadfastly made himself ignore everything else. It was easier, almost, this way. For a long time now, he just- _hadn't_ had the motivation needed, on days like today. He knew very well that he could curl up back in bed, turn the lights out, and die, and the world would continue to go on without him, unaffected and unbothered. When all his day held for him was infuriatingly useless paperwork, the motivation to get up and keep going past the invisible shackles chaining him to his bed and the black despair in his mind just was not there.

Now, he actually had a reason to keep going. Now, there was actually someone who needed him as something beyond a signature.

It made it easier. It did not, he found, really make it that much better.

The quiet mutters of worthlessness and defeat in the back of his mind, the pathetic futility of it all, how _exhausted_ he was and the only thing he wanted was to sleep until his mind quit working and he just withered out of existence in this endless black grave he'd dug himself into.

He wanted to stop.

God, he wanted to stop.

But Ed needed him.

Upon finally dragging himself back into his bedroom, he found the young alchemist awake, probably roused by the sounds he'd made throughout the house. As he was growing used to, Ed didn't so much as look at him upon his entrance. Rather than flinch or address him, he simply remained curled around himself on his side, in a position that hid his face and eyes.

His hand reached tremulously over to cover the empty spot where his metal arm was supposed to be, and Roy swallowed.

"There are some small bits and pieces I wasn't able to retrieve," he said quietly at last, forgoing any attempt at a greeting. He didn't have it in him today, and moreover, there simply wasn't any point. "They'll probably hurt some. If you ever want to find a mechanic in Central, to take them out and maybe give you some prostheses, just let me know. There's no need to involve the military."

Ed didn't respond.

He did, however, finally raise his head at the dull thunk of Roy's cane on the floor, shifting an inch to look at him past his still damp hair. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, looking from his eye to his leg.

Roy broke his gaze, leaning to set breakfast on the edge of the bed, then lower himself down after it. "Bradley was good with his swords. There's a lot of scar tissue and muscle damage that never fully healed. Some days, it's worse than others." He soundlessly held out the sandwich in one hand, the pills in the other, still not looking up from his bedspread.

He didn't mention the weeks he'd once spent in a hospital bed, not knowing if he'd ever walk again.

He didn't mention official title of _disabled_ that had lived in his file for seven years.

He didn't mention quietly sitting there in the north, ignoring his doctor's ordered exercises and letting the cold and inactivity do its work until the damage was permanent.

He didn't mention a lot of things.

He just sat there and quietly held the sandwich and medication out, and waited.

It took several seconds, but then, finally, he did take it.

"That's why you have those pain meds, isn't it?" Ed asked quietly, withdrawn and still. He could tell without even glancing up the alchemist was looking anywhere but at him.

"Yes."

"...You gave them to me."

"Yes."

After another beat of silence, he heard the sound of Ed taking the pills.

At which point, Roy lurched back to his feet... because if he hadn't stood up then and there, there had been a very strong chance he never would've found the willpower for it at all. "I'm going to work now," he said bluntly, again making no attempt at a preamble. "If you need something, there's the phone. My office number is next to it. Otherwise, I'll see you at six."

And with that, he resigned himself to a horrendous, long, and painful day at the office, and more yelling and insults waiting for him when he got home, and turned to leave.

"...Roy."

Huh. Look at that.

Probably the most civil Ed had sounded towards him in weeks.

Well, progress was progress.

How nice for it to come on a day like this, when he couldn't even dredge up the excitement for it.

"What."

Behind him there was a rustle of sheets; the faint sound of Ed sitting up. A long, uncomfortable moment of silence.

"...My automail should've been removed weeks ago," he said quietly, stiffly, like it was taking him a great effort to get the words out. "I'm sorry for not letting you do it sooner, and... thanks for helping me do it."

Well.

Maybe he wasn't going to be yelled at after all.

"...you're welcome."

It wasn't much, after weeks of this abrasive hostility and screamed arguments. And after the number of false starts of progress he'd had, Roy knew better than to hope.

But this was the first time he limped into work, leaving Ed behind, that he believed he finally had done something right.

* * *

Being handicapped had its advantages.

It especially had its advantages with Hawkeye.

It bought him averted gazes and uncomfortable small talk. Even his men, after all these years, still coughed awkwardly when they saw him limp into the office, suddenly making a business of shuffling their paperwork and looking around anywhere but at him. Hawkeye, who'd had one eye on the clock and one on the door, stern features arranged in lecture mode for his arrival fourteen minutes late, took one look at him then stared hard down at her desk, hands folding in her lap. It was almost ridiculous, how easy it was to get her to cut him slack like this. Once upon a time, she would have calmly skewered and then grilled him to be served with tea for a slip as minor as a missed deadline. But walk into work with a cane, and suddenly he had the freedom to kick his feet up on his desk, down a stiff drink, and snub a cigar out on his paperwork? She blamed herself for his injuries that day, why, he'd never understood, but she took responsibility for them, and on the days they stared her in the face like this, the guilt nearly crippled her.

It made it very easy for him to skip her interrogation on why he looked like hell, slip into his inner office, and finally lower himself down to his desk chair, all protesting muscles and sore limbs- all to count the hours down until he could leave.

When he barely managed to force himself through the motions for even half his stack of paperwork, Hawkeye did nothing more then take the unfinished work back to her own desk, her brown eyes shining with guilt the entire time.

He got to skip the hard-eyed lecture when he didn't even eat half of the sandwich she brought him at lunch, and any questions about the massive bruise _yet again_ spreading past his eyepatch. He also dodged the well-meaning, but _irritating_ scheming of his team to con him into going out with them after work. Without fail, his men always just seemed to _know_ , whenever the black cloud always at the back of his mind had inched its way past all his defenses and hard work, threatening to drag him right back to where he'd been seven years ago. And they, like Riza, had taken it as their self-appointed duty not to let that happen- but, when he limped into work and winced every time he stood, it was child's play to shut them up.

"So, Rebecca and I are having a poker game tonight if you want to come, Chief-"

"I don't feel very well today, Captain," he said quietly, not even looking up from his desk. "It's probably best if I just go home and lie down."

And that was all it took.

* * *

Just after lunch, immediately following Hawkeye collecting his finished paperwork and handing him fresh stacks, Roy eyed his shut office door, twirled his pen in his fingers, and reached for his phone.

It rang seven times, and he had already resigned to himself to just leaving a message when he finally got an answer.

" _Mustang... residence."_

"It's okay, it's just me."

" _...oh."_ A static sigh of relief rushed through the phone, and he could picture the tension leaving Ed even as he spoke. _"I, uh, guessed. Yeah."_

"I wanted to check on you. How are you? Have you eaten?"

Once upon a time, his response to that would've been an annoyed sigh, and some sort of comment that it was creepy to see him acting like he cared and he really needed to shut up.

This time, all he got was a slow, uncertain sigh, then a murmured, _"Not really. I don't feel that great."_

For the first time in hours, he found himself making a real effort to smile, dragging himself inch by inch past the suffocating depression that tugged down on each and every limb. The good- or, just non-argumentative, perhaps- mood from this morning was persisting, then. Maybe... just maybe... this progress was finally here to stay. "You could've picked up something again last night. You were in the rain for a long time and you're still really not in great shape... please try and eat something anyway, Ed. You need to."

" _...fine."_

This time, the memory of the old Ed would've responded, juxtaposed with this quiet, sullen, and defeated figure, made his shoulders slump, and his spirits crash right back down again.

He missed the old Ed.

He missed the way a lot of things had used to be, actually.

"I'm dropping by the infirmary on my way home, to pick up some more painkillers," he went on gently, because there was simply nothing positive to be accomplished by asking Ed why he couldn't just go back to who he used to be. He knew why he couldn't. "If you want I can look for crutches there? Something to help you move around easier?"

" _No. No, I'll be fine."_

"Are you sure?" he pressed, concerned. "It's not any trouble. If it'll help-"

" _I said I'll be fine."_

Roy hesitated, then just sighed, conceding with nothing more than a defeated sigh. He didn't want to push this, not when this was the first time he'd really started to get anywhere with Ed. "All right," he returned warily. "If you say so."

There was a short, uncomfortable silence, Roy fidgeting in his chair to try and find what to say, and Ed remaining quiet, plainly not about to make conversation. He bit his lip, gripping the edge of his desk. "...Ed-"

In conjunction with a sharp rap on his office door, Hawkeye stepped back inside, a folder pressed to her chest. "I'm sorry, sir, this was just delivered- oh. I'm sorry for the interruption..."

Damn it. "Hey- kid, I've got to go. Remember what I said about eating something, all right?"

" _...Sure."_

"Then, I'll see you-"

_Click._

"...tonight."

Well... it was still progress, he supposed.

Hawkeye gave him a curious look as she set the folder down on his desk. "'Kid'? Who was that, sir?"

"...Elicia. I promised I'd come over for dinner tonight."

Progress or not, something told him Ed wasn't even close to ready to face anyone else besides him.

Hawkeye's unsure stare softened into an approving one, and she smiled slightly, nodding. Some of the concerned worry that had been shadowing her eyes all day faded away, now that she had assurance someone would be looking after him tonight. The look made his own small, weak smile slip away, and he swallowed, finding himself suddenly hard-pressed to maintain a convincing enough facade to not worry his adjutant.

Hawkeye shouldn't _have_ to look after him like this. She had so much potential, so much to offer- but she tied herself down with him, and for this? To babysit him, to coddle him, to have to worry about things like whether or not her superior was going to have to be dragged out of bed today? She could have been a colonel by now. She could have accomplished so much. But she'd tied herself to him instead, and look at where she was now. Still adjutant to the most distrusted general in the military. Career headed nowhere; no one wanted to touch her after her association with him, and same with all his other men. Her personal life? How many times had he ruined _that,_ too, demanding by his virtue of being a worthless _sack_ that she be available twenty four seven, ready to pick him up after whatever pathetic mess he'd dissolved into this time? Seven years ago-

Seven years ago, she'd been his closest friend, after Hughes' death. He missed that. He missed the relationship they'd _used_ to have- an equal partnership, an equal give and take, where he trusted her and she trusted him. Now... what even _was_ this? Now she had to watch after him like this, like a parent- always making sure he ate, always making sure he didn't drink, keeping track of his every move like the world's most efficient slavedriver. Now she _didn't_ trust him.. not with himself.

She'd trust him with the country and her life, but not with himself.

 _Because you are USELESS,_ something insidious in the back of his mind whispered, sending him to drop limply back into his chair. Useless, worthless, pathetic. Ed wasn't the only one who'd changed, during these years, changed and not for the better- but _Ed_ had survived something horrific. He'd been torn away from his home and lost his brother. What was _Roy's_ excuse? Ed had lost everything, while he'd just- _let_ himself become this selfish waste of space, a hopeless lost cause, some kind of horrible poison on everyone around him-

"Sir," Hawkeye said calmly. "Whatever it is you're overthinking, stop."

Roy swallowed, both his words and the sour taste in his mouth.

He looked at her, at his amazing adjutant and friend whose every drop of potential he was steadily leeching away, and thought about Ed, the broken man back hobbling around his home. Ed, who needed his help right now- and all he'd done was rob him of his automail and drive him out into the rain. He looked around his office, to the cane leaning against his desk to the piles and piles of busywork they all dumped on him because he wasn't trusted, touched his eyepatch; then to pictures and reminders of all he'd done before... to the person he'd _used_ to be.

_You are a worthless, poisonous waste._

_You do this to everyone._

_Everyone._

"Riza." He paused, letting his one eye rest on the files spread out before him. "There's an... opening, over in the arms division. Team leader. Your choice of staff. You're far over qualified, both for the kind of work and leadership. I... should recommend you for it."

Riza didn't even miss a single beat.

"I'd rather you not, sir. It would save me the trouble of turning any promotion down."

"...You should've had your own team years ago. You could be doing so much good somewhere else. I... I should-"

"I'm exactly where I want to be, sir." Riza took a step closer, raising an eyebrow and looking every bit of the unyielding, powerful woman he knew her to be, but all he could think was how much _more_ she'd be without him. "I have no interest in going anywhere that's not with you... even if, right now, that means drowning under all the busywork that exists in this city."

Roy watched her, frowning still, stubborn still, even though he knew she'd meant for that answer to be the very end of this conversation. "Can you tell me why?"

Riza blinked, some of that unshakeable confidence of hers finally thrown. "...Sir?"

He waved a hand, repeating the honest question. "Can you tell me why? Hear me out, and don't cut me off this time. We've always agreed the goal here was reform. Changing the military, ending our wars, making amends with Ishval. _That's_ the goal... and when we started this, I was just our best shot at achieving it. But at this point, Riza, I really am just standing in the way of progress." He traced his eyepatch for a moment, lowering his gaze to his desk. "My name is mud. My career is headed nowhere. These are just facts. As things are now, the most good we're ever going to do the world is wasting away underneath all the busywork the Fuhrer Hakuro can find. Well... that's what I'm asking, Major. That's the most good _I'm_ capable of. But none of you have any obligation to say the same of yourselves, and remain tethered to me. Our goal was always to try and do the most good that we could, and right now, the most good you're capable of is by severing your connection with me to work on your own. I honestly fail to see what has kept you, and everyone else, to serve under me, when I can no longer deliver what I promised you."

He kept his gaze down on his desk the entire time just so he wouldn't have to see her reaction, though he wasn't sure why. The truth hurt, but it only hurt those reluctant to accept it- and he'd accepted it long ago. He'd accepted it the night he'd gone after Bradley, before he'd ever stepped onto the Fuhrer's estate, what his actions that night would cost him. Part of him was still bewildered at how wonderfully everything had turned out, regardless- an insanely high-ranking officer, no chance or risk of ever marching to battle again, his only responsibility to toil away with paperwork and papercuts until he got to his wildly undeserved pension and retirement.

Perhaps that was his punishment, after all.

A dream come true, for any number of officers in the military...

And a fate that to him, when all he wanted was the chance to turn his life around and do things right, was intolerable.

He heard Hawkeye slowly sit down in front of his desk, and found himself grateful she was taking his words seriously, rather than just treating him to the usual _chin up and finish your paperwork, sir._ Because he _was_ serious about this. Right now, he was helping Ed- unbeknownst to her, but still- and that really was the most good he'd accomplished since earning his rank back. A general should have more to his name than one traumatized child. And as much as he'd love for helping Ed to be enough for him, as monumental and amazing and unbelievable as he still found this second chance he'd been given to do right by him- it _wasn't._ He'd done too much wrong in his life, inflicted too much bad on the world, for just one life to ever be enough.

And if this was the limit of what he could do, then the best thing for him now would be to release Hawkeye and his staff, and letting them go on to do accomplish what he no longer could.

"General," Hawkeye said at last, quietly, and without the sharp crack of a command and authority he was so accustomed to. "Things change. That's the simplest way that I can put it, sir. As impossible as things seem now, that's no guarantee that's how they are going to stay. I... twenty years ago, you told me some childish dream about protecting this country just by being a soldier. It was also a wonderful dream, and we both were still kids, so I believed it as much as you did. Then, fifteen years ago, I think neither of us dreamed anything at all. We weren't really anything, beyond the civil war. I know neither of us believed in something as naive as just protecting our country through war anymore. Ten years ago, we all saw you climbing up the ranks the traditional way, and having Bradley make you his successor when he retired, and that Hughes and I would be there to see it happen." She smiled faintly, and, reluctantly, so did he, momentarily thrown back to when it had been just the three of them, criminally naive and only idiots with a pipe dream. They'd thought themselves grown up at the time, but hadn't even realized how stupidly idealistic and hopeful they'd really been until it was too late. "Seven years ago, we thought we'd find ourselves executed, for the crime of ridding our military of a bloodthirsty, inhuman monster, and went with our plans anyway, because we were the only ones who could do it. Five years ago, I'm pretty sure _your_ plans were still to hole yourself up in some pathetic northern outpost and probably spend each winter hoping for a bout with pneumonia to end your pitiful existence."

Roy finally dragged his eye off the desk for the first time in that little speech, meeting her gaze with the most sardonic look he could bring himself to muster and relieved to find her watching him with amusement rather than concern. "I object. Pitiful? _Really?"_

"Yes, really," she told him, again not missing a single beat, and something like affection fluttered in his chest. "My point is, General, that things change. Who knows where we'll be five years from now. Who knows what will have happened and what we'll be capable of together then. We-"

"I thought you were supposed to be the pragmatic one, and I the idealist?"

"Yes, well, sometimes I have to play the role of both, sir."

Roy paused, frowning again. He tapped a finger along his desk, rubbed it over the deep, tired old wood grains, wondering at the way she looked at him now. Still so confidently, after everything he had done. He'd lost her trust in his ambition two times, in Ishval and then when he'd given up his rank- and somehow, miraculously, earned it back both times. He wanted to say she wouldn't let him ever try a third time, should he fail her again- but, somehow, knew her too well. "As nice as that is, Major... you have yet to answer my question. Whatever hypothetical futures we have, it remains that, right _now,_ our best chance is if you and my staff move on from me. You have yet to answer why you won't."

She smiled slightly. Once again, her answer came far too easily, like she didn't even have to think about it- like it was just there at the tip of her tongue, waiting for her to say it. "And the world's not perfect, General. Would we accomplish the most by ourselves right now? Possibly. But unfortunately for you, none of us are interested in giving up on how hard _you've_ worked to just leave you behind now that it might be more _convenient._ We're not only loyal to your dream to this country, sir, we're loyal to you." And with that, she stood, clasping her hands behind her back and treating him to her stern, most supportive smile yet. "And, unless you can sit there with a straight face and tell me that you would throw me away if I somehow became blind and could no longer perform my duties for you, then don't sit there and ask us to abandon you just because you might not be Fuhrer yet."

When she walked out again, she left his door open a crack this time, just enough for him to see her and his men, more loyal than he could have _ever_ deserved.

He knew she'd meant for him to feel supported.

All it _did_ do was make him feel even worse than before.

But, he picked up his pen, dragged his eye back to his work, and began the arduous task of pushing himself through the motions once again- if only for their sakes, because the only worse insult than being tethered to someone like him would be if he became so worthless again he couldn't even manage his own paperwork.

If only it could be so easy for him not to fail Ed.


	9. I is for Intervention

Ed got better.

To a limited degree.

A very, very limited degree.

His behavior the day after the removal of his automail continued. He remained quiet, withdrawn, sullen. He finally started answering questions when Roy asked them, and looked more nervous than angry, shaken than upset. But the fire that been in him before, the fire that simply _was_ Ed- that was gone, too.

It was a relief, at first, to not have to brace himself for not-so-accidental shoves to his side whenever Ed passed him by or listen to almost nonstop _you piece of shit, I hate you, burn in hell..._ but then, nothing replaced it. Before, Ed would've glared or hit or yelled at him- and now?

He did nothing.

He didn't talk to Roy, not that that was any different than before. He avoided him still, now spending more time in his room rather than out on the couch or kitchen table glaring at him, and whenever Roy coaxed him out he avoided his gaze like the plague. He was hesitant, always clutching a blanket or oversized jacket around his shoulders to hide the empty spot where his arm and leg were meant to be, and would still lash out and tell him to go fuck himself if provoked enough but- it was hollow, somehow. Like he was trying to force himself to be something he wasn't. To be angry when he didn't feel it.

It reminded him, most closely, of the two years he'd spent in the north.

Not living. Not grieving.

Just... existing.

Roy didn't much like to think about that time of his life, but seeing it in Ed hurt far more than it had ever been when he'd been living it himself.

Then there was the fact that he was jumpy, terrified; without his automail blade there as a weapon, he was undeniably vulnerable and painfully aware of it. It was the first time he hadn't been ready to protect himself; he didn't have his blade, he didn't have his clap alchemy, and it was very obvious he didn't feel safe here without them... even though Roy had never so much as raised a hand against him.

Roy, try as he might, had no idea what to make of it.

While Ed still hadn't told him what the hell had happened to him, he couldn't help but try and draw parallels from his return to the weeks and months after Ishval. The nightmares were similar, the violent lashing out was almost identical, the hypervigiliance, the need to be armed at all times... but something about it didn't feel right.

It wasn't that Ed was afraid of or angry at everyone (though, since he couldn't be seen by anyone but Roy, it was impossible to tell). No... it felt as if Ed was specifically afraid of _him._

He'd not yet found the right way to ask him about it.

But, the lashing out had continued, and somehow, the nightmares had gotten even worse. Roy continued to go to work with bruises, hiding them under his eyepatch and high collar when he could, telling his men it wasn't their business when not. Ed was _violent_ when being woken up from tossing and turning, and being reduced to one arm hadn't made his punches any weaker. Roy could've pinned him down, sure, but when Ed was like that, terrified and almost screaming, he just didn't have it in him to frighten him _worse._ He let him do whatever he had to, and if that meant treating his face as a punching bag until he realized where he was and that he was safe, then so be it.

Ed still seemed dedicated to trying to piss him off, even more so than before; almost desperate now- though desperate for _what_ , exactly, he had no clue. Whenever Roy managed to provoke an argument out of him, it was a vitriolic tirade; murdering monster, useless fuck-up, killer. The second day after removing his automail, when Roy's old injuries had stopped paining him enough to let him walk on his own again, Ed had promptly stolen his cane and transmuted it into a crutch for himself. When Roy had realized what he'd done, Ed had just sat there and _looked_ at him, unspoken challenge and fear equal parts gleaming in his eyes, as if _daring_ him to speak up and say something.

Roy had just shaken his head and left Ed sitting at the kitchen table alone, still seething and waiting for a reaction.

The longer Ed stayed, the more and more the despairing, heavy cloud of depression that lived at the back of his mind inched further and further to the forefront. And the harder it got to be for him to find enough _feeling_ in him to give Ed the fight he so seemed to want.

* * *

The weeks passed, and it became apparent this was Ed's new normal; somewhere between so depressed it was a fight to get him out of bed and so unstable and angry he was half expecting the alchemist to try and murder him in his sleep. Roy let him do whatever he wanted to, and steadily ignored the increasing worry that that was only making things worse. He didn't dare bring up Al. He thought every day about calling the Rockbells, Izumi Curtis, _someone_ else to take charge since he was so woefully unprepared and inadequate...

Until one day, he actually did.

He waited until the work day was officially over, and he'd already given all his paperwork to Hawkeye, so there'd be no reason to interrupt. Then, his office door shut, he fished out the number for the Curtis's, gave it a very long, hard look- and dialed his phone.

Ed had forbidden him from calling the Rockbells- and, quite simply, Roy _didn't_ want to call them, not until he knew more- but he hadn't mentioned his old alchemy teacher, he reasoned. And if Ed wasn't going to cooperate with him...

God, he could only hope he'd cooperate with her, because he was quickly running out of options.

" _Sig Curtis, Curtis Butcher Shop."_

Roy sat forward in his chair, giving his shut door a hard look as if he could _see_ his men eavesdropping through it. "Mr. Curtis. This is General Mustang; is your wife home? I have some news for her."

His answer, however, was not a promising one.

Sig Curtis gave him a heavy sigh, and in that sound alone he heard the prediction of how this conversation was going to go. _"She's not feeling well today, General. Either leave a message, or you'll just have to wait."_

"...Oh."

Not feeling well, when in relation to Izumi Curtis, was not code for a cold, the flu, or anything else at all minor.

Well, this was just the cherry on top of his shit sundae of a week, wasn't it.

There was exactly nothing he could do concerning her now. That would be one very painful message to just off-handedly pass over the phone to her regardless, but it became unimaginably cruel to do so while she wasn't well. _Yes, remember those two students of yours that you cared about so much? Been missing five years? Well, one's dead, and I'm pretty sure the other one was tortured. Call me back?_ Just- no. He couldn't think of doing that to her.

Then again, wasn't that what this would amount to, regardless? Carelessly passing on this information over the phone when she was in Dublith, and couldn't even do anything except agonize over it? And if she was ill again, that meant she was in no condition for a train ride to Central. Even though he doubted _Izumi_ would agree with that assessment, and would see no problem with a long train ride while vomiting blood, it was true. She'd have to wait a week or more before even attempting the long trip, and even then, just what was she supposed to _do,_ when she got here? Just join him as another witness into Ed's despair? It wasn't as if he was naive enough to think seeing another figure from his past would just snap him out of it. He'd probably feel even more miserable, and then _Izumi_ would feel horrible herself, and then...

God, what was wrong with him? Who was he _really_ doing this for, anyway- Ed, or himself? Selfishly calling Izumi like this, trying to thrust this responsibility onto her even when he _knew_ Ed didn't want her or anyone else to see him like this- and what was he expecting from her, the ailing woman to hop on the next train, rush off to his side, and fix everything? Sig was tight-lipped about it, but Roy had his suspicions that Izumi was dying, and had been for a while. He couldn't involve her- not like this. It wasn't right. Even if he'd called her up on a day when she'd been in perfect health, rarer and rarer, these days, it still wouldn't have been right. It would've been unimaginably selfish, to even think of getting her involved.

_Selfish, that's right... worthless as always..._

" _General?"_

"...I'm sorry. Sorry for bothering you," he groaned, dropping his face into his hand. This was a wreck. "This call was premature, I don't think I'm quite ready to talk with her."

There was another moment of uncertainty on the other line, a long pause that was all it took to make Roy regret calling in the first place. Then: _"General Mustang, what exactly is this regarding?"_

Because, he really would have only called the Curtis's concerning one thing.

"...We do have a lead on the Elric brothers. A tentative one. But, like I said, this call was premature- I wouldn't recommend you pass this along to your wife just yet. If this ends up being a false trail- there's really no need to get her hopes up. Just... just give me a couple weeks, to find out how good this information is."

Between letting Izumi Curtis learn that Alphonse was dead, and seeing Edward like _this..._ or just letting her continue to believe the brothers were dead?

As they said, ignorance was bliss.

_If I really can't get anywhere with Ed at all, then, perhaps it really would be kinder to let her die without seeing what he's become._

Roy swallowed tightly, his chest twisting in despairing grief and misery.

How had things ever come to this?

" _I understand. I won't tell her just yet- no good would come of it now. But... General, it's been so many years... do you really think there's a chance? Last we spoke, even the Rockbells thought..."_

"...I do, Mr. Curtis. I do believe there's a chance."

Except, Roy reflected-

That was a lie.

They exchanged goodbyes, and Roy set his phone down, and buried his face in his hands.

He didn't believe there was a chance.

Al was dead.

And Ed...

He was starting to believe there was no chance of him getting Ed back, either.

At last, Roy just dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the tired old ache in his many scars and the dull throb through his eye. As always, there was simply nothing for him to do but return home, and keep Ed alive for yet another day. Onwards and existing.

That really was all he could do, no matter how fucking _pathetic_ it was.

"Goodnight, Major, Captain," he called offhandedly, quietly, raising a hand to the last two of his soldiers in the office but not his gaze, dragging himself forward to the door. "Have a good weekend."

"Actually- General? A moment, please?"

God, what now? What _now?_

He did not have enough in him to get through anything but sitting through a ride home, then sitting there to watch Ed slowly fall apart. Just let him go home, already. Enough with this day from hell.

"...Make it quick, Hawkeye," he started to grumble, stiffly turning himself around- then stopped, upon beholding the sight that waited for him.

Hawkeye and Havoc were the only ones left, which was not unusual, given the time. But, looking now, he saw their desks were cleared completely of work; in fact, they looked to have finished some time ago. And neither looked like this meeting had any relation to work.

They were both nervous. Hawkeye, exemplary at hiding it, only betrayed herself by the tense furrow of her brow; Havoc was fidgeting in his seat and held his gaze only, it seemed, with great effort, very obviously uncomfortable.

He did not have it in him for this.

"What," he began cautiously, one eye moving between his two subordinates, "is this about?"

"General." Hawkeye gave him one of her looks, one that told him he was going to take his medicine and he was either going to like it, or shut up about it. "Why don't you sit down?" She gestured at Breda's empty desk, and anxious nerves twisted in his stomach further. What the hell _was_ this?

"I'm afraid I have somewhere to be, Major. You're going to have to make this quick." He pointedly remained standing near the door, not at all interested in entertaining this- whatever it was. He cleared his throat, glancing between the two of them again, and folded his arms in a show of impatience. Even if he _didn't_ have Ed to hurry home to, this wasn't something he wanted to put up with.

Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged a tense look, one that screamed subtext and pretense, none of which were good things for him. Then, with nothing more than a sigh, Hawkeye frowned back at him, meeting his stubbornness toe to toe, and spoke. "Very well, sir... this will go as quick as you allow it to." Another _look_ , this one that made him feel as if he was already outmatched. "The men and I have been concerned, about your recent behavior. You've been distracted, exhausted, and moody for weeks. You're skipping meals again, and avoiding us."

"You haven't gone out with us in months, sir," Havoc pointed out quietly, and in that moment looked like nothing more than a sympathetic friend. "Everyone's concerned that you... well..."

For god's _sake._ Roy glared at them both, shoulders tensing with the instinct to back the hell out of here. Damn, _damn._

Hawkeye wasn't the only one of his staff to have taken it upon themselves to watch him, ensure he never screwed up like he had seven years ago. The others all did, as well. At least once a week, there was a poker game or dinner or even, on one _very_ ill-fated occasion, a group speed dating session- never again- always something without alcohol, and always for his benefit. Always a scheme to get him out of his house, force him to spend the night doing something other than burying himself in bed to never come out. Some weeks, it was barely a nuisance, and he only complained because he knew his men expected him to; he actually got some enjoyment out of it. Some weeks, it took everything he had to drag himself out and he did nothing but sit quietly and depress the rest of the group like the fucking _drain_ that he was. And some, he couldn't even find it in him to go out at all.

Apparently, they had all decided that skipping this many was not acceptable.

"I'm... fine." Roy left his arms folded, wondering if he should be appreciative they all cared enough to notice something like this, or pissed off that he was a grown man and about to be lectured like a misbehaving child. "Whatever you all are thinking, it's not that. There's just been some personal matters that I've needed to attend to lately. That's all."

"We're all going out next Tuesday," Havoc countered without missing a beat. "It's Heymans' birthday. What time are you free? We can-"

"I can't make it. Pass on my apologies, but I'm afraid I'll be busy that night."

"And every night in the foreseeable future, I presume," Hawkeye murmured unhappily.

She was not pleased.

Roy sighed.

This would be so much simpler if he could just tell them the truth. That he just _couldn't_ leave Ed alone for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. It wasn't that he thought Ed might hurt himself- he had been worried, at first, but it had been long enough now that if Ed really had such plans, he would've carried them out by now. But that didn't mean he felt right about just leaving the traumatized, half-crippled kid alone for hours on end just so he could go and try to relax with some of his friends.

Besides, Ed was having enough trouble trusting him right now... if he broke what little he'd been given, in telling others about his return, and Ed found out, the kid would be gone. He had no doubts about this. Even without his limbs, no money or friends to speak of, even with the small progress he'd _finally_ begun to make, if he told anyone in the military about this and Ed found out, he'd run. He'd be gone before sunrise, and Roy would never see him again.

He'd...

_Oh, who are you god damn kidding? Ed's just your excuse. Ed doesn't need you home every night, he doesn't need you at all. He doesn't even LIKE you. You're just using him as an excuse to continue to be this fucking waste, so you can just crawl home every night and not have to try and put up a front like you're okay. That's all anyone ever is to you, a nuisance or someone to use and use and use until they're used up. Fucking waste... fucking worthless...  
_

"Sir," Hawkeye said again, eyes taking on a gentler light, looking at him like- god, he couldn't stand it. Like he was something to be fixed or made right again. "We can't help you if you're not willing to let us," and he _hated_ it-

"I'm _fine._ How many ways must I spell it out? Am I not allowed to have a life outside of work anymore?" He took a step back, just wanting to get the hell out of that room and away from the both of them. "Both of you, this is out of line. I don't need-"

"You've been using your cane more, General. And coming to work with bruises. _Bruises,_ sir." As if to illustrate her point, she raised a hand, pointing; he just barely stopped himself from smoothing over his hair to hide the faint, almost faded mark on his brow. "General, what is going _on?"_

She sounded worried, now. The pretense of sternness had been dropped, just like that, and now- now, she sounded and looked as worried as Havoc- who was next, and he'd never been able to disguise his concern for anything but as he leaned forward, staring at him with naked upset. "Whatever's going on, we'll help you, but- you have to tell us, sir. Who's been hurting you?"

...

Oh, for the love of god.

"...Is this... an _intervention?"_

 _Oh,_ for the love of _god._

Hawkeye and Havoc exchanged another uncomfortable look, clearly thrown by his suddenly blank stare- and, for the first time all day, possibly all week, Roy had found himself struck with the very strange urge to laugh.

Unbelievable.

"This is an intervention." He looked between his two subordinates, and then, even though it'd accomplish nothing except making them then he was even more crazy than normal, gave in and let a startled, amazed laugh slip out. "That's what this is."

"Sir," Havoc tried, almost desperately, "we're _worried_ about you-"

Hawkeye, less shaken than him, because she was Hawkeye and nothing could shake her- "This is hardly a laughing matter, General-"

Roy held up his hand to stop them, then nearly choked on another laugh. For fuck's sake. "That's enough. I... oh. All right. Listen. I- I'm just-" Unable to stop grinning now, Roy took a step backwards through the door, barely battling the startled, shaken laughter growing in his chest. He couldn't put a finger on just _why_ he suddenly couldn't stop laughing, because it wasn't all that funny- but his choices were between feeling either utterly ridiculous and gutwrenchingly shameful, so he was just going to have to go with ridiculous. "I'm just going to... go. Forget this ever happened."

"This conversation isn't done!"

"It is. Believe me, it is."

Havoc was already halfway to his feet, reaching out to him like he might need his help to so much as walk down the hallway. "Mustang, don't be ridiculous; at least let me drive you home, it's-"

"Actually, I think I'll walk today." He swallowed back an extremely unmanly giggle and took another step back, now just focusing on making it outside before he lost it entirely. "Have a good night, you two," and that had to be the most cheerful he'd sounded in _weeks,_ and Roy had barely made it out into the hallway before he burst out laughing.

 _This_ was how pathetic he was, now. He had become a bruised, startled housewife, for his friends to ambush, coddle, and protect. Oh, _god,_ he was pathetic. He knew he wasn't the man he'd used to be, but- _this?_ He was still Roy Mustang, _General_ Roy Mustang, soldier, the Flame Alchemist even he'd given up his state certification years ago. Who did they take him for? Did they actually think he was so helpless? He was pathetic but had he really become such a doormat that- what? What did Hawkeye and Havoc and, apparently, all the rest of his staff even _think?_ He went around getting into bar fights at night? Or, even worse, they had so little confidence in him that they thought he'd let himself be _abused?_

For god's sake, they'd just held an intervention at him like he was some frail, helpless, abused military wife!

Being a general, and a handicapped one at that, Roy didn't walk home. With his eye, he wasn't allowed to drive, but even in fair weather, there was just no point in straining his leg and risking being bedridden the next day. It had been _years_ since he'd had the luxury of walking past the on hand staff of privates ready to chauffeur their superiors around the city. But today was one for firsts, because, clutching his sides, laughing and grinning more than he had in _months,_ Roy strolled past the military garage and turned down the street to walk home.

If only he could tell them the truth. They'd see how ridiculous they were being. The very idea of what they were suggesting- and between him and Ed, no less...! Roy laughed again, so hard other passerbys stared at him and his sides hurt. Him and Ed...

What _was_ it between him and Ed, anyway? If he told Hawkeye the truth, what would she make of it? And, now that he actually thought about it- why _did_ he let Ed continue to act this way? It wasn't like him. If anyone else treated him like this, he certainly wouldn't tolerate it. He most _definitely_ wouldn't have let him continue to stay in his house, nowhere else to go or not.

But Ed...

He wasn't scared of Ed; the thought was laughable. It wasn't out of fear. It wasn't a misplaced sense of loyalty or obligation. It wasn't because he believed he deserved it, or some other such nonsense.

He allowed it to help Ed. That was all.

Sure, he could stop Ed if he wanted to. But fighting Ed, restraining him, hitting him back? After what he'd been through, that was unthinkable. Hawkeye would surely think otherwise, but she just... she wouldn't understand how important it was he treat this gently; that was all...

Even though he'd been _treating this gently_ for weeks, and gotten nowhere.

Roy shook his head at himself violently, rubbing a hand over his face and trying not to derail himself thinking of how passively letting Ed do what he had to had only made things this much worse. Never mind his motivation- what about _Ed's?_ After all, it wasn't all accidents. Some of the blows and screams he could blame on nightmares and flashbacks, but not all. Some of the lashing out he could blame on the trauma, but- this was _not_ normal. What _was_ Ed after here, anyway? What was he even trying to accomplish with all of this? His goal seemed to be to make him angry, but to what end was there? The only time Roy had tried returning to their old, inherently argumentative dynamic, the day he'd called Ed short, had been an unmitigated disaster. That _wasn't_ what Ed wanted.

So, then, what...?

Only several moments of pondering that question, standing there quietly at the crosswalk, arms folded, and head down- and Roy had his answer.

* * *

Ed was back in his room, when he made it home.

By the looks of it, he'd not left it all day.

He didn't even raise his head to glare at him, still huddled there at the head of the bed, one hand turning listlessly through the alchemy book he must've read dozens of times. A blanket was draped haphazardly around his shoulders, drowning in Roy's nightshirt that he hadn't even bothered to alchemize to fit. His long, uneven hair and downcast gaze hid his hollow eyes, and for one long moment, Roy just stood there and looked at him, taking in all the signs that screamed defeat.

Then, calmly, he cleared his throat.

"Ed."

The young alchemist dully turned another page. "I'm fine."

He paused, leaning quietly against the doorjamb and folding his arms to simply stand there and watch him. He weighed the question on his mind for a moment, determining how best to broach this topic.

Then, he just decided to take off the kid gloves and dive in.

Treating Ed with kid gloves was what had created this mess in the first place. It was time to stop.

"Why do you want me to throw you out, Ed?"

Ed's shoulder stiffened. He went still, then jerked up a little, but the look in his eyes was nothing more than a guarded, wary confusion, and he did not speak. It was plain the blunt question had taken him by surprise, and he had no answer ready to give- so Roy began to walk a few steps into the room and spoke again. "That's what you're after, isn't it? All of this that you've been doing... you want me to throw you out. That's what you've wanted ever since you've shown up here."

Ed tensed again, eyes still wary and suspicious, every bit of him drawn away almost as if he expected to be struck. "Leave me alone." As if by reflex alone he jerked his hand up, gripping his empty shoulder like a vulnerable animal covering a wound. His gaze went stubbornly back down to the book in an unspoken _I'm ignoring you now_ look, but Roy wasn't having it this time.

"No, Ed. You've had more than enough time. I'm not going to leave you alone and just watch you stay on this path to self-destruction anymore." He sat firmly on the edge of the bed, holding still even when the alchemist flinched back to press himself to the wall, still gripping his empty shoulder. "Explain yourself. Why are you trying to make me get rid of you? You don't need me; you can just leave on your own if that's what you want! But you're specifically trying to get me angry enough to get rid of you myself. Why? Why are you doing this, Ed? If you want to make me miserable, get back at me for whatever it is I did- well, you succeeded weeks ago. And I think I'm done letting you do it."

Ed's gaze hardened, the alchemist still pulled away but glare taking on a less fearful quality now, wariness fading away in favor of anger. "Yeah?" he challenged, a near hiss. "You're done with me now, then? You're finally sick of me?"

"Ed, stop. Just stop."

But Ed yanked away, balanced precariously on the very edge of the mattress now, eyes lit with sudden desperation. "You said it yourself, I'm making you miserable! You want me gone, admit it! You hate me! You're-"

" _Stop_." He grabbed for Ed's hand when he lashed out, stopping it from glancing off him to pin it to the sheets. "You're making a fool of yourself. I don't _hate_ you, you know that- the only one who seems to hate you is _you_. Is that it; you want me to hate you as much as do? Do you think Al would be proud of this? Do you think Al would like how you're acting?"

As predicted, this did not elicit anything positive.

It was why he'd said it, after all. Al was _the line._ Al was the line that was not to be crossed. Al was the one thing that, after all this time, had remained forbidden.

And it had become abundantly clear that if Roy wanted answers out of him, then he was going to have to break all the rules to get it.

First, Ed just gaped. He just stared at him as if Roy had just slapped him across the face. He looked so stunned it was like the words had just turned his brain straight off. He blinked for several seconds, eyes wide- and then, for just a heartbeat, he looked so honestly betrayed that Roy almost regretted the whole thing.

And then, betrayal and hurt morphed into sheer, unadulterated rage.

"Don't _you_ even fucking talk about him. Don't you dare to even say his name."

The right move, then.

He just needed to persist- no matter how much it hurt Ed.

Or himself.

"Say his name? Why? Is his _name_ sacred now, Ed?" He cautiously began to loosen his hold on his wrist, but the moment Ed started to jerk it up like he was about to hit him pinned it right back down again. "He's dead. Al's dead, Edward. He's been dead for weeks. You blame me for it, when I had _nothing_ to do with it? You want me to hate you, throw you out? Or do just blame and hate yourself so much you think it'd be easier if I did it, too?"

Roy was not surprised in the slightest when Ed's next move was to try and punch him in the face.

Ed _was_ surprised, when Roy stopped him.

"Shut up- _shut up!"_ Ed tugged violently at his restrained hand, with such desperate need he nearly overpowered Roy. "You don't have a fucking clue- don't talk like you know anything about this, about _him!_ You have no _idea,_ you shit! You- you- _MÖRDER!_ _LET ME GO!"_

"Ed, _no. Stop this."_

" _YOU KILLED HIM!"_ He threw himself away, yanking to free his arm, desperately trying to gain his freedom; Roy refused to yield, not even so much as an inch- and, with a scream, Ed lunged.

As mismatched of a fight as this was, it was also no holds barred- for Ed. Roy had his limits and refused to hurt him; Ed, like always, didn't care _what_ he had to do so long as he got free. He kicked and bit and scratched, writhing like a wild animal, but all Roy could do was try and avoid, block, and defend. He pinned his kicking leg down with his own and batted away the flailing hand, but when Ed threw himself forward to try and bite the restraining hand he was so shocked he let go.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?! _Ed!"_ He jerked back to shake out his hand, stunned. Ed was _biting_ him now? What the _hell?_ "Will you calm down already?! You're losing it over nothing! Ed-"

But once again, Roy found himself grappling with a crippled, terrified alchemist half his size, desperately trying to restrain him and stop him from hurting himself in his hysteria. Ed kicked and fought, flailing, and in the chaos he felt three more bruises be hammered into his skin and there was the shattering of glass before he finally managed to wrench the arm up and slam it against his wall, pinning it and with it, him.

Well. It seemed this approach had been a wild miscalculation, then.

Ed gasped and heaved in his grip, straining, but now that he was standing he couldn't use his leg against him and Roy had him trapped. He shouted still, yelling incoherently, screaming desperate insults and terror, and as he was used to, Roy simply held Ed still, and waited it out.

While Ed struggled, Roy looked away, the anguish contorting his face too painful for him to bear, to glance uncertainly around at the damage their fight had done to his room. The blankets were disheveled from their struggle; he didn't even know where the book had ended up. Ed's fighting had torn a button or two off his nightshirt, and the flailing had knocked off the picture on his nightstand- the earlier sound of shattering glass...

He'd known this wasn't going to be easy, but a reaction of this magnitude was disheartening to say the least.

Ed gave another valiant try at freeing his arm, and when that got him nowhere howled his distress in an earsplitting scream right in his face. He stumbled desperately, trembling on his one leg and hopping backwards for balance; Roy heard his foot land on the fallen picture again, cracking the glass to ruin- and at the tiny, shocked cry that came from him, wounding his foot as well. The sound and sudden injury did have their good side, though- they made Ed jump again, finally dragging him out of this screaming, violent fit. He slowed down, still gasping but no longer fighting to get free like his life depended on it. His panicked eyes flicked down, searching in confusion for the source of the wound as he reeled back, struggling to balance himself on something other than the bleeding bottom of his foot.

He stumbled to a stop, and stared vacantly down at the smashed picture frame.

He looked back up at Roy.

His face slowly stretched into a smile. A manic, enthused, crazed smile.

And, holding his gaze the entire time, Ed brought his foot back down onto the picture, no longer protected by its shattered frame, and calmly wrinkled it until it tore, and blood had been smeared directly over Hughes' face.

It was the one picture Roy had of him. The one of the two of them together, standing together on graduation day. Roy the perfect, stoic soldier, and Hughes, already shameless, grinning his ass off.

And now it was wrinkled, torn, and ruined with blood.

Slowly, cautiously, Roy tilted his head up to look at Ed again. His heart skipped a beat, squeezing in his chest, and he stared at Ed, mind stunned into a blank slate of nothingness. He stared from Ed to the bloody picture, then back to Ed.

And Ed just looked at him... clearly bracing himself to be hit...

And looking forward to it.

He _wanted_ Roy to hit him.

Roy lowered his hand.

"Are you proud of yourself?" he asked, very quietly. He took a step back, folding his arms tightly over his chest- mostly to restrain himself from doing something he would regret. He clenched his fists around his shirt, held very, very still, and stared. "Do you think Al would be proud of you, Edward? Is this what you want to be?"

The hope- because, yes, it was _hope_ in his desperate eyes, _hope_ that Roy would finally lash out and hurt him back- froze. Ed stared. And then, that hope morphed, bit by bit into a terrified, anguished _hatred_ that burned so desperately in his eyes, Roy almost couldn't bear to look.

"You... what?" Ed shook his head once, still shaking, pressed back against the wall as if to disappear into it. His voice had become very, very small, sounding almost confused more than pained or frightened. "What are you... you're supposed to- to get mad. You... c-can't..."

"Can't what, Ed? Can't be a decent human being and not hurt you?"

Ed just shook his head again, eyes going wider and wider like by his refusal to give in, Roy had just stabbed him in the heart. "You can't do this!" he finally shouted. "You can't be this way! You- get mad at me, fight back, _fucking do something!_ How could you do it to Al and not me?! I'm giving you every reason to so just- just _f_ _ight back, you piece of shit! FIGHT BACK!"_

"No."

And this, it seemed, was the last straw.

With a wordless howl, Ed pushed past him, lurching and dragging himself away in a stumbling and horrified panic. Roy stared after him for a heartbeat, just too disheartened and drained to bring himself to move, but then, with a momentous effort, wrenched himself after him.

"For god's sake, Ed, you're not going anywhere. Calm down before you hurt yourself-"

" _SHUT UP!"_

" _Edward-"_

Ed lashed back at the restraining hand on his shoulder, shoving and fighting with all his dying strength. He pushed away and swung his crutch like a bat, first going for his head and then his leg-

And, ow.

Ah.

Pain.

_Hello again, my old friend._

Ow.

Roy was only dimly aware of his world tilting, swimming nauseatingly to land on its side. He didn't feel it when he fell, only barely realizing it on the back of his mind at the feel of cool, wood floors under his cheek. Pulsating waves of pain rolled outwards with each and every tortured breath that he took, and each and every one sent him rocking into a spasm induced nightmare. White stars burst behind his eye, overtaking his blurring vision until all he could see was the haze of agony, and his whole existence narrowed down to a single pinpoint in his leg.

In that moment, Roy's world consisted only of the pain.

Ed, either by accident or design, had hit him directly in the center of the deepest wound on his leg. Where Bradley's saber had sliced so deep he had severed nerves, muscle fibers, and even scarred the bone itself. It, more often than not, was the wound that disabled him, leaving him sitting on the sidelines with a cane and painkillers like he was seventy years old or bedridden and shaking as Hawkeye sat next to him, holding his hand and promising the pain would pass.

It was not his worst wound from that night, far from it, but it was one of the most humiliating... and Ed knew exactly where it was.

This, like everything else, had been no accident.

Unlike every night before, Roy was now in no shape to stop Ed. He could barely see, and couldn't comprehend anything beyond the pain rocking through him now from head to toe. He couldn't walk. He couldn't even stand. He couldn't do anything but lie there and spasm on the floor of his own home.

The only thing in his power, in that moment, was desperately trying to keep the anguished scream still locked in his throat.

He wasn't even sure if he succeeded or not.

Roy couldn't put a number on how long he laid there, twitching and gasping like an invalid. It had been years since he'd an attack this bad, and it could've been minutes or hours, for all he knew. He was only aware of the passage of time through each hard fought, ragged breath and every wave of pain. All he was sure of was that it had been long enough for Ed to be long gone, when his head finally cleared enough for him to get a grip on himself, and then, with another deep, painful gasp, open his eye.

It took a few moments for his vision to right itself, the nauseating, blurred image righting itself into a sideways view of his hallway floor. Another anguished gasp wrenched itself past his clenched teeth and Roy held himself still, freezing like the pain was a predator and would find him again if he dared even twitch. Tightly controlled gasps shook through him still, and, very carefully, Roy let his eye rove about the hallway, searching for the boy he had promised everything for and delivered nothing.

When he finally found Ed's foot, standing just at the edge of his peripheral vision, he was too exhausted, drained, and in pain to even feel relief.

"Well," he finally said, voice hoarse and rough. He could barely even talk. "You've got what you wanted, Ed. I can't stop you anymore. If you run out right know, I won't be able to do anything but watch you go. You could be halfway to Xing before I'd even managed to crawl to the phone." Cautiously, he tilted his head, moving just enough to bring his gaze up to meet Ed's. The kid look startled, shocked; not triumphant or apologetic. He didn't even look angry anymore. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Go on. Run off if that's what you really want. Apparently, I have no say in the matter anymore. ...Do whatever the hell you want."

Ed didn't move.

His shocked stare didn't even waver.

"...I hurt you," he managed at last, in a murmur that was nothing but a shaking whisper. He limped a step back to lean against the wall, and even with this view, he could see the kid was shaking. "I ruined your picture and I hurt you. Aren't you... aren't you going to... do something?"

Roy sighed.

"No, Ed." He leaned his head back a careful inch, just enough to meet his eyes with his own. "I'm not. I'm not in any shape to do anything right now, and even if I was, I wouldn't. I care about you. You're important to me. That means I'm not going to hurt you, or throw you out, or want you gone no matter what you do to me or how mad you might make me. My door is always open for you, no matter what you've done. I'm sorry that that is so repulsive to you."

For several long moments, Ed didn't respond at all. He just stared down at him wordlessly, eyes wide and shocked, indescribable pain and sorrow tearing his features and previously fisted hand limp by his side, the hate finally gone from his eyes only to be replaced by anguish. Then, still without words, he just dropped down to his knee, and huddled himself back against the wall in a tiny, shaking ball. He squeezed his eyes shut, breaths tiny and hitched, and in that moment, the only word Roy had for him was defeated.

Roy lay his head back down on floor, curled up as much as his abused leg would allow, and remained silent.

For a long minute, neither spoke. Roy just lay there, and Ed pulled away from him and shook, head buried and hidden in his knee. His long hair hid everything from view again, enough so that when Ed finally raised his head up an inch, it still shadowed his empty eyes, enough so that Roy didn't realize the change that had come over him until he spoke, voice haunted, pained, cold... but ringing with finality.

"It was Rainart Mustang."

"...What?"

"Rainart Mustang." Ed moved just enough to look him in the eye, and the cold, old pain in there pierced him through to his soul. "He's the one who killed my brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more false starts, everyone. Next chapter we finally get to hear everything that happened to Ed :) See you on Saturday!


	10. J is for Judged, Juried, and Executed

"There's another world. Just like this one, in all ways except the ones that mattered. Here and there are like... like two sides of the same coin, and the Gate is the metal in between." Ed raised his hand, staring at his palm and trembling fingers with a far-off, distant look in his eyes. "The names aren't the same. Amestris over here, Germany over there. The times weren't right, either. I left Amestris in 1916, ended up in Germany in 1937. The worst was the people. Everyone over there is the same as someone over here. Everyone has a double. They looked identical, the names were almost the exact same, and even their personalities..." He shook his head, shutting his eyes. "My dad and I took the place of that world's Edward and Hohenheim after they died, and we were so similar no one even _noticed_ except Alfons. Not my brother... the other Edward's brother. He was only one who even realized we weren't the originals."

The young alchemist was sitting back against the wall, leg pulled loosely to his chest and overly large shirt drowning him, making him look horribly small. Roy still sat on the floor as well, half propping himself up against the wall, half still on his side, tentatively massaging the screaming muscles in his leg while he watched him, heart pounding and tension making his body cry out in protest. "I... don't think I fully understand," he murmured hoarsely, and Ed just shook his head without even looking at him.

"Neither do I. I was there for seven years and never understood what that world really was. ...I don't think it even matters, really. I'm never going back there." He shook his head derisively, face twisting. "All I ever cared about was getting out of there, and I never could."

After several moments, his tense breaths faded away into a long, tremulous sigh. He still wouldn't look at Roy, but some of the pain etched into his face had eased away, leaving his gaze tired and empty as he stared into the distance, remembering to the place that had nearly torn him apart. "The first two years I was there, I worked with Alfons, on rockets. It's this- this flying machine _thing,_ it's- it's hard to explain... they've got shit that _flies_ over there, Mustang, it was unbelievable. Like, way up in the air, like you're a bird, and it's all just fuck-awesome physics- the first time I saw it was when I realized Germany might not be so bad." He flashed a grin, eyes brightening for the first time thus far; Roy, for his part, could barely comprehend it. "And it was my only idea to get back to Amestris. Alchemy just- doesn't work over there, it's not... not a _thing_ on Earth, so I thought if I couldn't transmute my way back home, I'd just fly here. Dad was never much for physics; he tried the alchemy angle. He tried to figure out how to make it work over there. And you saw how that ended up- with that psycho breaking through to Amestris and blowing up Central, _and_ he got himself killed in it all, too. Fucking great job he did."

Roy closed his eye for a moment, his head spinning. Ed hardly sounded too broken up about his father dying; then again, he'd had a long time to deal with it, and from what little he'd been told about Hohenheim, their relationship had been... less than stellar. He hadn't been aware Hohenheim had followed him through the Gate at all, but wasn't about to ask how. Even without delving deeper, this was already just too much to take. It was _insane._ Part of him he shouldn't be surprised; this was _Edward Elric_ after all; that guaranteed the impossible, the unbelievable, the bizarre... but it was still almost too much. Another world? Doppelgängers? No alchemy, but flying machines?

Impossible.

Across from him, Ed continued his quiet story, gaze still averted and shoulders slumped. Whether he was aware of the effect his story was having or not, it didn't show, and Roy did his best to just keep quiet and listen.

"That world's Alfons died, too, same time as Hohenheim. Just in time for my brother to take his place. You'd blown up the passageway, I didn't know if there even _was_ any other way back, and Al and I, we... we _wanted_ to go home, but we just didn't know where to start. We... didn't have any other other choice but just to... to settle down and accept it." He shrugged a little, looking almost defensive as he tried to explain his own actions. "We were going to start trying again, but we really had nowhere to start _from_ anymore, and we really had to accept that we just might be over there forever. We had to start trying to build a life over there, not just spend the rest of the time we had running away. Besides, there was nothing we could even do right away. I had to teach him German, he had to figure out how that world worked, we had to brainstorm, everything..." He trailed off to shake his head, smiling weakly. His eyes were distant again, staring into nothing, looking hazily reminiscent back to a much better time than this one. "I think we just got complacent. It was the first time in our lives we didn't have something we had to run to so badly we couldn't afford to just take a break and breathe. We both knew it would get so much harder the moment we started trying again, so we... we just didn't. ...as things turned out, we should have."

Roy hesitated again. He didn't much want to speak and interrupt, to just let Ed finally tell this at his own pace, in his own time, but by the look on his face, Ed didn't want to even go on. He really didn't want to, but... he seemed to know that he desperately needed to.

He just needed someone to make him.

"So, what happened, then?" he prompted quietly, still watching him. Very gingerly, slowly, he pushed himself up a little higher on the wall, holding his leg still but trying to sit straighter, something in him not sitting right with hearing this story just lying down half-dead. "How did things go wrong?"

Ed sat still for a moment, not even looking at him. He tilted his head back against the wall, letting his messy hair cover his eyes from his view. He looked almost disturbingly vacant, hollow, and when he finally did speak again, his voice was just the same: as vacant and hollow as a corpse.

"Germany decided to declare war."

There was another silence, and Roy waited without a word, but a seed of dread had already been planted in his gut by that one soft declaration alone.

Ed wrapped his arm around himself here, still shivering, and hesitantly lifted his gaze up to watch Roy. His shadowed eyes were unreadable but pained, exhausted but not hostile; for the first time in so, so long, they finally weren't hostile. God, he almost forgotten what Ed looked like when he was just _Ed,_ not a spiteful, hurt creature that cursed his every word. "You have to understand that this wasn't a normal war, Mustang," he said, voice strained. "The closest parallel I can think of over here is the Ishvallan genocide, but, even that... there _isn't_ a parallel, Mustang, for what happened in Germany. I thought about it for a while, and there's just not one. Amestris has done some pretty despicable things, and genocide is genocide, right, one's not better or worse than the other, but... what they did..."

When Ed just trailed off weakly into nothing, gaze still hollow and distant, Roy swallowed, pushing himself shakily up another inch. Worse than Ishval? His first impulse was a shocked, almost nervous instinct not to believe him. Because Ishval was... Ishval. It was the worst thing he had ever done or seen, and in all of recorded history, he'd never read of anything more barbaric. There simply could not be anything worse than it. It just didn't register with him. It wasn't that he didn't believe Ed, but that he _couldn't._ Ishval had been a systemic massacre of every man, woman, and child in that desert, so brutal they in the end, they weren't even given a chance to surrender any more. He knew, god, he _knew_ Ed wasn't naive, he wasn't stupid, if he said it was worse than Ishval than it _was,_ and after seeing him try to recover from it he realized it must have been _horrific,_ but- he just didn't want to believe it.

And then, Ed started talking.

"The Ishvallan war, at least there was a reason for it. It was to make a Philosopher's stone, even if you didn't know it at the time, and they _were_ fighting back- maybe just to protect themselves, but you weren't just steamrolling through a country blowing up hordes of unresisting civilians. That doesn't make anything you did right, but it was still a war. Nothing about war is right. But this..." Ed swallowed, hugging himself even tighter now. "They slaughtered their own people, Mustang. They led- led _people_ like animals to slaughter. Millions of them. The elderly, the sick, infants, Mustang- they butchered _infants-_ and for no reason except they were different. Like Ishval, the Nazis excused it by saying it was for the good of Germany, that the Jews were trying to ruin us- but the Jews were just as guilty as that as the Ishvallans. They hadn't done a damn thing except exist and be a little bit different, and the Nazis killed them for it. It... it was a war against the rest of the world, but against their own people, it was a massacre."

Ed huddled up again, trembling and small, haunted and empty- but his voice low and steady, an empty monotone that trotted out the crimes and horrors of war. He spoke the way only one who had witnessed it all could, like he had seen so much of death and human depravity it had finally just desensitized him to its existence. "Al and I were in Germany at the time, when they declared war. We wanted to get out at first, but just didn't know where to go. This wasn't a civil war, this was- this was the _whole world._ They ended up calling it the second world war. There was nowhere to run _to_. Our last hope was America, even that was a long shot, but... but Al said no." He shook his head weakly, face still half-hidden behind his knee again. "He insisted it'd be like running away, and that that wasn't who we were. And, I guess he was right. America was so far away, it would've been safe, but... we wouldn't have been able to help anyone there. And there were people in Germany who needed our help." He shook his head, then just rested his chin on his knee. "...we really should have run away."

Roy swallowed bitterly, nervous dread thudding in his chest like a physical pain.

Oh, yes, that sounded like Al, all right.

And it also sounded like Ed.

Of _course_ Al would stay in an open warzone, for the sake of helping the civilians and refugees... and of course Ed would stay there with him. It didn't surprise him in the slightest. Al was a saint that would sacrifice anything to help those in need- and Ed would sacrifice _anything_ for his brother.

Seeing that look on his face now, though, and Roy found himself wishing with all his heart that had been one argument that Ed had been able to win, and that he had dragged Al to this America and never gotten involved in the war at all.

He kept such words to himself, well aware it would be a monumentally stupid thing to start crying over spilled milk now, and still just watched as Ed sighed, sinking back against the wall again and still not really looking at him. He looked quietly miserable, eyes downcast, and Roy found himself reluctantly settling in for more of this story of horrors. "We stayed in Munich," he said slowly, "still worked on rockets for a little while, just for the money. Our main work was smuggling Jews out in our house as best we could- but it was hard. There were always people dying, every single day, and every time we had to turn someone away we _knew_ what we were condemning them too, but-" He shook his head vigorously again, shutting his eyes tightly. "There was nothing we could do. If we took too many people, we'd attract the Nazi's attention. ...It didn't make it any easier, turning people away, but... we did what we had to do. _"_

"...You didn't have a choice," Roy offered gently after several moments of broken silence. He knew this was Ed's story, and it wasn't his place, either to interrupt or try and draw any attention to himself, but something told him he had to say it. "A few others and I smuggled out a few Ishvallan kids, during the war. You know whomever you turn away dies, but if you help too many and you're found out, you won't be able to help anyone at all. You did what you could. Never forget that."

Ed didn't respond for a long moment, pale and withdrawn. "We saved forty-one, and watched millions die," he said finally, voice desperately empty of anything but regret, and Roy knew from experience that that deficit would be one Ed would never forgive himself for.

The alchemist sighed, rubbing a shaking hand over his face as if in effort to force himself to move on. "W-well," he coughed harshly, "it worked for a little while. We stayed under their radar. The Nazis, they raided our factory at one point; they wanted the rocket scientists... they arrested whomever wouldn't join them. But Al and I managed to get out of it, somehow." He smirked, face twisting in ugly dislike. "We were so young, we'd never even been to university- they thought we were just a couple of dumb kids tacking our names onto the actual scientists' work. The other scientists protected us... the Nazis didn't believe we could've been anything but machinists, and they didn't need anymore of those- they just let us go." He nearly choked on a weak, hysterical chuckle, still half-covering his face. "It was a miracle. It was also too close a call. The only reason we'd survived was because we were kids and looked Aryan... their fucking _master race,_ " he spat, loathing contorting his voice. "I'm telling you, if we'd had darker hair and eyes, they would've shot us."

Roy blinked, taken aback. He stared at Ed, waiting, hoping for some kind of clarification, or weak grin like it was some sort of terrible joke- but none came.

It wasn't as if racism didn't exist in Amestris, after all. Being visibly Xingese, Roy had faced it often enough himself, and had seen it against anyone with darker skin far, far worse than it had ever been against him. He knew a big reason Bradley had picked Ishval for his massacre was because, in the eyes of so many Amestians, they were the weird _others,_ these strange outcasts out in the desert, the ones with the kooky religion, the _brown people_ not like them- but it wasn't as if that had been enough to execute them. Bradley had gone to great efforts to paint Ishval as the aggressors, and even then had let the war drag on for almost five years before giving the extermination order, when he could finally justify it as the only way to end the bloodshed.

By the way Ed was talking, these Nazis had just gone with extermination right off the bat, and no one had even tried to stop them. And once again, Roy almost couldn't believe it. The military would've revolted. Soldiers would've deserted. Civilians would've rebelled. Sure, _some_ cowards would've followed orders, but give a decree that terrible and any decent human being would refuse to follow it.

But Ed didn't waver for even a moment, and Roy, with an ever increasing sense of horror, began to realize that he was not exaggerating.

"We kept on smuggling Jews out, for a little while," he said bitterly, shoulders slumping. "We actually beat up my automail a little bit... the Nazis hit our area pretty hard, conscripting soldiers. They didn't _force_ anyone to enlist, not really, but everyone knew bad things happened to you and your family if you said no. But when I looked disabled, and with Al taking care of me, and still a minor, they left us alone after a while." He shrugged weakly again. "First time of my life I felt handicapped. I had to pass it off as an explosion at a the rocket factory- something masculine, heroic... they killed lots of disabled people, too."

Roy started, jerking again. "Why?" he stammered out, before he could stop himself. "What purpose could that possibly- ...sorry." He shook his head, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I just... that doesn't win any support from anyone. That doesn't get rid of any resistance. It's just... killing people because you can. There's no reason for-"

"And I told you, this wasn't like Ishval, _Flame,"_ Ed broke in viciously, his eyes flashing. "Hitler's aim- think of him like Bradley, except just a human but ten times the monster- Hitler's aim wasn't to get public support. His only goal was to put his stupid fucking Aryan people on top of the world, and if you weren't Aryan, you were only good dead. Disabled?" He shrugged viciously, face twisting hatred again. "Well, then you'd obviously be polluting the Aryan gene pool. You're dead. End of discussion."

Ed stared at him, his hard eyes piercing in their disgust, and this time, Roy had no answer for him.

For several moments, it was just that, Ed staring at him, and Roy couldn't deny that he was grateful when those angry eyes were finally hidden, the alchemist turning away again to slump back into himself and stare at the cold floor. He wrapped his arm around himself a little tighter, fingers digging into his empty sleeve, twisting the cloth into a hopeless fist. "I..." he murmured, "a... anyway." He coughed, sounding unsettled. "Anyway. Like I said. We kept on helping out who we could. No one around us really took refugees, but... we made do, I guess." He bit his lip. "The war started in late 1939. We got out forty-one people before November, 1941. The... the Nazis raided our house the night we were taking in our forty-second."

His voice, with such a steady undercurrent of nervous tension or twisted pain up until now, suddenly drained of absolutely everything until all that remained was just a cold, empty, listless husk.

He sounded dead.

Roy's trembling fingers, still massaging the spasming muscles, stilled, and his stomach twisted.

This was not a story that would end well.

"They sent us to Dachau," Ed said quietly. Still, with any emotion so absent it chilled him to his core. "It was their closest... well, they called it a _work camp,_ but they were fucking liars. They told the fucking _world_ it was just work camps, prisons, but they were _liars._ It was hell. It was a prison for slaves if you were able bodied, and a death camp if you weren't. It's that simple. It was all Hitler's final solution... if you were Aryan, German, a good servant to the Third Reich? Then you were safe. Anybody else, and your only use was working for them in their shitholes. If you couldn't do that, they executed you. End of story. ...They executed ... _millions._ For- literally no reason at all. ...You know, I didn't even believe it myself at first." He let out a weak, despairing little laugh, shaking his head at himself and trembling. "I knew it was bad, but I thought the rumors couldn't possibly be true, that it could not be _that_ bad. I know we're a shit fucking awful race that's always coming up with newly horrific ways to do horrifying things to each other but- no one could be _that_ horrible. That... that _awful,_ but... the rumors didn't even do it fucking justice." He laughed bitterly, face contorting in loathing, stricken smile. "It was worse than we could have ever imagined."

Ed sunk even more into himself, hiding his entire face now, and Roy found himself reaching out helplessly, just wanting to touch him, comfort him- but his leg hurt too much to even drag himself that far. It was a good thing. No matter what his instincts wanted, he thought, his stomach churning... this didn't sound like a story during which Ed would be very open to a damn hug.

He still wanted to try, though, as he listened on, helpless to so much as comfort him as Ed finally told him his own living hell.

"They dragged us there like animals. That's not- they put us on literal _cattle_ cars, Mustang, c-crammed so many people in there some of them were crushed to death- and they j-just threw out the bodies at night and burned them!" He let out a tiny moan, squeezing his eyes shut like the memory caused him physical pain. "Like they didn't even matter! An _animal_ would've gotten more respect! Then at Dachau they just dragged us back out, and the first thing they do is decide whether or not you get to even live. If you're strong enough to help them work or if you just get to die, since you're of no use to them. It was like we were animals again... they just- just put us in a line, and they look at you, and if you looked like you could work, they sent you to the left, but if you weren't they... sent you to the right." The trembling hand moved slowly, twitching to cover his mouth, muffling his voice, but it didn't silence the tremulous, sickening story- or calm Roy's rising horror. He suddenly found himself acutely glad that Ed's face was otherwise hidden. He didn't think he wanted to see the look in his eyes.

"To the right was..." Ed went on at last, trembling, "They said it was... the s-showers. They said it was to disinfect you, before you went on to the prison. ...They lied. It was to kill you. They sent you by the dozens into a room, and they gassed you all to death, and then just s- _stuffed_ all the bodies in an oven and _burned you_ to ash _._ If they sent you to the showers, it meant you were dead."

He paused, hugging himself a little tighter again. He pushed himself to scoot back on the wood floor, looking almost like he was inching away from something...

Roy choked.

His shower.

He was inching away from his _shower._

That day... when Roy had tried to force him to wash off all that blood..

Oh, god.

"Ed-" he gasped, suddenly heedless of the pain as he jerked away from his support, reaching out for him with a trembling hand again. "Ed, I'm so sorry- I had no idea- oh, god... If I'd known- Ed, if I'd had _any idea_ I'd never have-"

"You didn't know," Ed murmured quietly, absolving him of _traumatizing_ him just like that.

"But Ed-"

"You didn't know," he said again, voice even more dead than before. "So it doesn't matter."

Roy gritted his teeth, heart still pounding as he fought back another horrified apology. Oh, god, what was _wrong_ with him? How could he not have realized at the time?! He... _god, Ed..._

But Ed was already continuing on. This, such a horrible crime Roy could barely even process the depravity of it, was just the beginning for him, and as Roy sat there horrified and struggling to so much as grasp it, Ed went on, moving past the abuse like it had barely even touched him at all. He still wouldn't look at him, eyes shut now to lean his head back against the wall, hand open and limp on the cold floor- and once again, all Roy could think was how selfishly relieved he was that he didn't have to see the look in his eyes.

"Well, Al and I were in line. In shock, I guess. It hadn't really sunk in yet, what was happening. I knew they weren't going to kill him, they were passing on people who looked way worse than him, so all I was thinking about was what we were going to do once we got inside, how to get him out of there, and... and then, I... heard his voice."

"...Whose?" Still trembling, Roy moved a little closer still, not close enough to touch him but close enough for Ed to have recoiled if he was frightened. He did not. He didn't know why he asked, because he _really_ did not want to even hear any more of this nightmare, but something in him dragged him forwards in a sickened, horrified curiosity. "Whose voice, Ed?"

Ed shook his head slightly, rolling it from side to side against the wall. "The officer doing the intake," he murmured, voice strangely thick. "I heard him. It... didn't register at first, I was so worried about Al I wasn't thinking, and I guess Al just didn't recognize it. But then, we got closer. And he kept talking. And t-then I realized, and... and I couldn't... _believe_ it, and so I looked, and... and it was you."

Roy froze.

Very slowly, Ed lifted his head up just enough to meet his stunned gaze, and in Ed's eyes, open for the first time in minutes, Roy was finally greeted with agony.

"Officer Rainart Mustang," he said quietly. "That world's version of you."

His stomach dropped.

It was dead silent for several long, unbelievable seconds. Roy just stared, his mind grounded to a nauseating halt, and Ed stared right back, unblinking and unwavering. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. Ed didn't waver so much as an inch, just kept gazing at him, and suddenly, all Roy knew anymore was that every second longer those dark eyes pierced into him, Ed brought the weight of the world crashing down around his shoulders even more. When he finally did go on again, his voice quiet and cold, so steady it sickened him, his gaze still did not waver even at all, and Roy found himself powerless to so much as look away- even though there was nothing he wanted more.

"Al... and I... made it out," Ed told him slowly. So slowly, like each individual word was another added weight to the growing, crushing horror on his head. "You just sent us to prison. You sent at least a hundred others to their deaths... and that was only on that day. You did the same every time more prisoners got in." He shrugged blithely, like it didn't even matter, like such death was just another day for him, eyes fixating on him with blame, accusation- _hate-_ and, oh, god, for he first time, Roy understood it. He understood it _all._ "Not like it matters, though. Some people said the ones you executed got off lucky. At least they had a quick end. No matter what they called it, Dachau was a death camp- they all were. The only difference was whether you died quickly or slowly. You just gave us the slow end."

They shaved our hair," he went on, viciously spitting it out in disgust, the hatred in his anguished voice only growing, "and burned our clothes. Put us all to work. Sometimes for shit to help with their war effort, sometimes just shit to keep us busy. There wasn't enough food; they carted in prisoners by the thousands every month, and the only reason they didn't run out of fucking space was because we all kept dying. Even most of those that weren't gassed to death ended up dead anyway- hundreds died every week; starvation, sickness, the conditions, whatever." His glare intensified, eyes burning with a livid, anguished hatred that made his heart stop all over again. "You think I'm exaggerating? I saw the bodies, Mustang. I saw people just keel over dead. Pass out into mass graves or fall over in their own sick. I saw _you_ dragging them over to the ovens to burn them."

Roy barely felt his head turn in another shake, heart lurching and head spinning. It felt like he was caught in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. He stared at Ed, stomach tightening to the point he almost wanted to throw up, then looked down to his shaking hands. He blinked, trying to imagine the horrors Ed was describing, something so perverse and sickening it seemed impossible to exist anywhere in reality. "Ed," he whispered, limp with horror... but Ed allowed no mercy.

"What?" he laughed at him, the sound crazed and horrified, high-pitched with manic pain and exhausted suffering. "You going to act like you'd never do such a thing, you _shit?_ Don't lie to me. You and Rainart weren't identical, but you're close enough that I know you wouldn't have done anything different in his place. I know what you did in Ishval, after all, _Flame Alchemist._ You killed kids. Unarmed, surrendering civilians. Winry's _parents._ "

The breath left him like he'd just been kicked in the chest, and his hands- his murdering, bloody hands- suddenly felt cold.

As cold as they'd been when they'd gripped the gun.

Roy couldn't stop himself from leaning over, turning his face away from the accusation in Ed's eyes. The pain in his leg just didn't exist anymore, the rest of him too far gone to feel it. A small moan wrenched itself from him, head roaring as he fought against the images and feelings that threatened to assault him all over again. The naked horror, the sickened shame, the anguished self-loathing... _two good doctors, you killer, you murderer, two good doctors who'd never harmed a single soul you butcher-_

_Orders to become a butcher. Orders any decent human being would've refused. Orders you took and let ruin you._

"You did whatever you were ordered to," Ed told him harshly, like he'd known _exactly_ what he was thinking, and Roy barely dragged his head up enough to meet that stare, a judge, jury, and executioner all in one. It took him a moment to realize Ed wasn't speaking of him at all, but Rainart. "Guess you have that defense, for whatever it's worth. You weren't giving the orders, you just followed them. Killing hundreds every month, watching hundreds more die because you wouldn't so much as give them a blanket or something to eat. You punished us whenever we fucked up- pass out because we were sick and starving? Better make us just stand out in the snow until we actually die- because you were ordered to, Mustang. You were just following orders." He grinned, or perhaps just bared his teeth, because there was nothing kind-hearted or gentle behind that predatory snarl.

Because Roy knew Ed believed in that excuse as much as he himself did.

And he went on then, he still went on, no matter how much every fiber of his being was screaming for Ed to stop. "Yeah, let's talk about that, Mustang, some of those _punishments_ you had to give us. You know what you did, Mustang? Al and I, there was no way out, there were just too many guards, too many guns, no alchemy, we weren't strong enough, so we decided to try and help the prisoners that we could, we stole food for them, they were dying because _you_ wouldn't help them and we stole food for them. Such a horrible, unforgivable crime, isn't it?" His face twisted into a horrifying mockery of a grin once more. "Thousands of prisoners, and we threw an extra loaf of bread or two out there every week or so- fat lot of good we did. But you know what you did to us because of that, Mustang? They found out we were stealing food, and they ordered you to punish us, and you _did._ You followed your stupid orders to the letter. You tied us both up in front of everyone, and you just whipped us. ...You whipped my brother, Mustang."

He was beyond further shock.

He was not, evidently, beyond further self-disgust, even if before this moment he would've sworn it was impossible to hate himself any more than he already had.

He'd... he'd _what?_ He physically could not comprehend it. It was not possible. He stared at Ed, remembering the stomach-wrenching scars on his back, remember the blood boiling rage that had swept through him at the sight. The swell of hot revenge and the immediate oath that he would _murder_ whoever was responsible-

...It was _him?_

He had done this?

Ed... Al...

His stomach turned again, and the wrenching pain through his leg was nothing as he pulled it up to his chest, huddling against the wall in a horrified shock. He'd... _Ed, Al..._ no, he wouldn't have- he'd never have done that to them. _Never._ His entire being rebelled at the very thought. He would _never-_

Except...

That wasn't true.

He would.

If ordered to, the soldier he'd been back in Ishval...

He would have.

Hurting two defenseless prisoners who'd done nothing wrong would've been far from the worst thing he'd done under orders, after all.

"I'm... sorry," he whispered, but the words sounded empty, hollow, and one of the most worthless apologies he'd ever given in his life. How many more times would he have to apologize for hurting someone so badly, ruining someone's life? Ishval, a thousand times over, Riza, Gracia and Elicia Hughes, Winry, now Ed and Al... "I'm sorry, Ed."

His hands had more blood on them than he could ever apologize for.

"Why don't you tell Al that?" was all Ed said in answer, vicious and designed to hurt, and his heart throbbed.

Then, he realized.

Al.

Al was dead.

And ever since Ed had returned home...

He'd accused Roy of killing him.

No.

Oh, no, no, no.

_No..._

_This can't... I wouldn't have..._

_No..._

"Ed," burst out, a gasp, weak and trembling. No, this wasn't real, it couldn't be- "Ed, how did Al... how did he die?" Roy knew he should let Ed tell it at his own pace and shouldn't push, but at the same time- god, he couldn't stand not knowing. It wasn't true, was it? He'd followed despicable orders over and over again, murdered countless people who hadn't deserved it, was an irredeemable monster in _so many_ ways, but he wouldn't have killed Al. Surely there was a limit, surely there was an order he'd have said no to. There was a limit, and Al, innocent, good-hearted, kind Al, was it.

It had to be.

Ed just looked at him then, and the anger he'd been bracing himself for not coming. Instead he remained calm, and somehow, that calm was far more nerve-wracking than any anger would've been.

Ed just met his gaze without flinching or care for a long, quiet second. There was no emotion in his expression, none at all- and then, voice as hollow as an empty chasm, he spoke.

"We were in Dachau for two and a half years. I don't know how either of us survived. I hung on for Al, and... I guess he hung on for me. The guards hated us because we were always stealing food and medicine, but I think by the end neither of us expected we'd ever get out of there. If we were going to die, we decided we just might as well do it helping people. And we managed it, for two and half years. Until..." He sighed weakly. "There was this kid. Seven years old, but big for his age, so the Nazis let him live to try and work for them- but he ended up in really bad shape. Really sick... I stole one of the officer's blankets for him." He shrugged loosely, eyes still distant, so much so it left him numb with horror. "It's stupid, in the end. There were tons like this kid over the years; nothing special about this one. I'd done so many things worse than helping him, over the years. I didn't think of it as a big deal. And it wasn't, at first... when the shit realized it was missing, he just accused me and Al like always. Didn't have any proof, couldn't figure out which one of us it was so he tried to blame both of us. I confessed, told him everything, that Al had nothing to do with it... and he believed me. So I thought it'd be fine. They'd leave Al alone."

Ed paused, going very, very still.

"He hauled me and Al outside, in front of everyone. He called Rainart over, and... and he told him... he told him that since I hadn't learned my lesson any other way, then maybe I'd learn it if they gave my actions a consequence I couldn't ignore. So he ordered Rainart to shoot Al. And he did. You did, Roy. You got your gun out, and you shot him in the face."

For a moment, Ed simply looked at him. He looked limp and shellshocked, like his soul wasn't even there anymore and his empty body was just calmly recounting a story as dry as his paperwork...

Except he was crying.

Silently, calmly, wet tears slowly spilled over his staring eyes, rolling down his cheeks as he passed down his final sentence, with all the soul crushing weight of an order to death row.

"You murdered my brother."


	11. K is for Kriegsverbrecher, Kriegsheld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things. First off- what Ed and Roy say about Nazis/Rainart in this chapter is specifically their views, not my own. I'm not going to get into my views here but I recognize this can be a pretty delicate subject still so I just wanted to make that clear. Second of all, on a lighter note- finally we are done with Ed being mad I swear to god from here on out it's pretty much just papa Roy and parental fluff and Ed feeling sad I swear. I've been ready for Ed to get past his issues and allow Roy to help him for just as long as you guys, and now we're finally here :)
> 
> Kriegsverbrecher, Kriegsheld: German for War Criminal, War Hero

When the knock on her door came, half past noon on a cold and dreary Saturday, Riza Hawkeye did not know what to make of it.

At her feet, Hayate lifted his head with a curious growl, sniffing like he could smell the reason for the disturbance. Mostly on autopilot, Riza set aside the file she'd been looking over to scratch his head, wondering who it could be. The military would've simply called her, and Rebecca didn't tend to show up unannounced. A neighbor? Shrugging, she gave Hayate a final scratch around the ears before standing, sending him off to whine at the door before she reached it.

Opening it, however, revealed one of the few sights in the world that could leave her speechless.

"...Hi," Roy said quietly after a long stretch of silence, and made a valiant effort at a smile.

It trembled, wavered, and then simply crumpled after not even a single second of the falsehood.

"...G- General," she stammered, blinking. Stiffening, Riza shut her mouth and stood at attention, raising a hand in salute and cursing her unsteady voice, but her superior didn't so much as stand up straight in return. If he even could- he looked _terrible._ He seemed barely capable of standing, leaning heavily on his cane with his face sallow and pinched like he hadn't even slept the night before, and uniform wrinkled as if he hadn't ever changed out of it after work the previous day. And the look in his eye...

It was the look of a man on death row.

Riza got the sickened feeling she was glad his messy, uncombed hair shadowed over it. She didn't think she wanted to see that hollow, empty stare unobscured in the light of day.

"General," she managed again, only after several strange, silent seconds in which he just stood there and looked at her, providing no words to explain his presence or appearance. She swallowed tightly, fingers curling into an anxious fist. "What are you doing here?"

Now, Riza knew her superior very well. Roy Mustang had perfected the art of masks and could fool anyone in the world with them, but she was the exception, just like he was hers. He could not hide anything from her. She knew just with a glance what was on his mind, and no matter what his mouth said and his expression tried to depict, his eye couldn't lie to her.

That was why when, in response to her question, his pale face offered only a cold expanse of drained _nothingness,_ she began to realize that something was really, really wrong.

"Can..." He cleared his throat, the words a guttural, gravely cough, and something about them sent something cold down her spine. He glanced away, staring down at his feet rather than at her. "Can I stay here for a couple hours, Hawkeye?"

His voice sounded even more dead than his eye.

The question gave her pause, almost even more so than his appearance. It made no sense, and his state, even less so. Just yesterday she'd watched him walk out of the office with a smile on his face and a spring in his step; she hadn't seen him so lighthearted in _months_. As tense and worried as she'd been going into that disastrous attempt to get him to tell them what was going on, afterwards- well, his grin had been infectious. She'd actually found herself the slightest bit hopeful that that had been the nudge he'd needed, and he was lifting himself straight up out of the slump he'd been falling into for weeks now.

And now?

Not even twenty four hours later, and he stood there as if the world had ended, and he had ended with it.

But, she reflected, as he stood there silently in her doorway, so drained and slumped and without anywhere else left to turn, he'd asked her for a lot more than this.

"Of course, sir."

With acquiescence did not come an explanation. It didn't even bring relief. He just quietly lifted his gaze to look at her, eye shadowed, face empty, and when she gave her approval, he limped inside without another word, gaze back on the floor and shoulders slumped. He looked like he could barely walk, staggering his way the few feet forward until he could slowly, painfully lower himself down to her couch inch by inch, so stiffly he didn't even bend his bad leg- but she clearly had matters more important to focus on than just his leg. He kept his eye averted as he settled back into the battered cushions, arms wrapped loosely around himself, and once there, just bowed his head and stared at his knee as if he'd forgotten how to do anything else.

Riza paused.

This wasn't just Roy being Roy. This wasn't just Roy slipping.

Something had happened.

"...Sir," she started uneasily, swallowing again- and then just stopped when she realized she had no idea what to say.

Hayate wandered back over to the couch, giving Roy's knee a nudge. When this garnered no response he started to paw insistently at his leg, clearly in search of attention, and in spite of herself she had to fight a smile. Hayate had learned that whenever she ignored him, he was to sit quietly and wait for her to finish her current task before she could attend to him- but then, there had come _Roy_ , and he'd used every opportunity possible to ruin her training. He didn't have a strict bone in his body and the moment Hayate came running, he'd lose all self respect and get right down on the floor to lavish attention on him like a puppy.

Her smile faded, however, when Roy didn't even react to Hayate's attempts to get him to play. He didn't look as if he'd even _noticed._

"...Sir," she started quietly again, and this time cautiously crossed the room to join him on the couch. He still didn't look at her, eye staring and vacant across the room as if he'd died. "Sir, are you all right?"

It took several moments to get a reply, and when she finally did, it wasn't an answer.

"...I'm sorry." He looked down, one hand falling limply to give Hayate a half-hearted pat. The move looked like it had taken a huge amount of effort, and his voice, so empty and absent... "I just. I. ...I couldn't stay there anymore. I had to get... even for just an hour..."

He shook his head, staring distantly to the wall with an almost wild, desperate light in his eye, and then, went silent.

As confusing, and worrying, as the statement was, Riza got the feeling that if she asked what he meant, he wouldn't tell her.

Clearly put out by the lack of attention, Hayate let out a little mournful whine, standing up on his hind legs to plant his paws on the couch. He growled at Roy, and the general finally blinked, gaze focusing for the first time since he'd sat down. "Hey," he mumbled hoarsely, dropping a heavy hand onto his back; again, it looked like it took almost more effort than he had to give.

Growling again, Hayate shook off Roy's hand and climbed up onto the couch. Uninvited, he lay happily across Roy's lap, curling up on him like he was his bed, and even gave her a baleful look, as if to say _I know I'm not allowed on the couch, but are you_ really _going to stop me from keeping him company?  
_

When Roy, after recovering from the surprise, finally softened, and managed the first hint of a genuine smile today, no, she determined, she was not.

Riza let a minute pass in silence, simply watching him as he slowly scratched Hayate's side, still staring across the room. He looked less dead than when he'd arrived, but no less miserable, and her uncertainty grew. She knew Roy had been having trouble lately, but just could not think of what could have happened between yesterday and today to reduce him to this. He lived alone, and didn't go out any more unless she or one of the team was there to force him. He'd been slipping on a downhill slope for a long time now, but their miserable attempt at an intervention yesterday was simply not enough to have prompted this. Something drastic must have happened.

Finally, when they'd been sitting there without exchanging words for well over a minute, and all Roy had done was slowly, methodically rub Hayate's side, she knew she had to speak up. "General," she started, then swallowed and changed tactics. "Roy. Tell me what's wrong."

At first, there was no response. Certainly not words, but he didn't even look in her direction; his hollow, empty stare didn't even waver. He just calmly stroked Hayate's side, hand half-hidden in the mass of fur; if not for that, she thought she would've been able to see that it was shaking. He didn't answer her for a long time, just stared wordlessly away and radiating a sense of such unresisting defeat it sent her back to the way he'd been seven years ago. Her stomach twisted in speechless shock and she was just left to sit there in quiet, growing horror. What had happened; what had _happened_ to him? It was her responsibility to see to it that he never got that bad again- but it wasn't a one-woman battle anymore! Roy fought that just as much as she did; it had been _hard_ , for him to manage to finally get to where he was now, a feat they'd managed _together_ and she knew he wasn't about to give everything he had fought for back up again.

For him to even be this bad off, she knew something had to have gone very, very wrong.

Finally, Roy spoke.

"...I'm despicable, Riza."

Her heart skipped a beat.

And then, before she'd regained enough of herself to even _begin_ to question him, he told her everything.

"I'm... I am a disgusting, horrible person." His voice, quiet and anguished with self-loathing, dropped even lower, and his eye remained anywhere but on her. "I- I ruin... I touch something, and I just _ruin_ it. That's what I do. Even when my intentions are good, even when I've only wanted to help, all I ever do is destroy. Why am I such... why do I..." He shook his head slowly, voice thick with frustration as he fought to find the words. He broke off, then started again- steadier, perhaps, but no less tortured. "Riza, I want to be a good person. I sincerely, honestly do. I've made every effort I know how to. I know it may not always seems like it, but I try it. I do. So- so why... w-why can't I... I _be_ that?"

His voice shook; his always so steady, so solid voice shook, just barely enough for her to hear the crack in it. The deep crack that shattered his foundations to their core, and before she even knew what she was doing, before she even knew what the hell she was going to _say,_ she'd reached out to try and stop him. "Roy, you're not-"

 _"No."_ He forced her hand down with a hard _smack_ on the wrist so sudden she almost jumped, a vicious and heartbroken denial that he could be anything but the terrible thing he was describing. "I don't want to hear platitudes or these baseless lies, Riza; _listen_ to me! You can not look at me knowing I've sent a whole country to their graves and tell me I'm not a monster just because I'm trying to make amends now. This is what I am, Riza, and it's _impossible_ for me to be anything different. It's impossible for me to be _anything_ but this. I try; I try and I try, it's all I've really been able to do to for a long time now but- but I _can't. All_ I am capable of is hurting people. W-what-" and then his voice just _broke, "_ what kind of a _shit_ person am I that I can't even be good? How inherently _bad_ do you have to be before you can't even manage to do that?!"

His long hair still shadowed his face, but Riza could still see, plain as day, the torture that twisted it in two.

In his lap, Hayate let out a little mournful whine, shifting in protest, and it was only then that Riza- and Roy- realized he'd tightened his fingers in his fur so much it had hurt him. By reflex alone, it seemed, Roy loosened his hold, but his hands were shaking and his eye was still hollow and then he slid down the couch, collapsing onto himself until he was almost hiding from her behind her dog. He held himself and trembled, empty stare dissolving into a thing of unspeakable horror. "I know I'm no saint," he forced out, voice strangled and hushed. "I know that. I'm not asking for that. But can I... can I really not accomplish _any_ good at all? Is- is the sum total of me, of what I am, just this? A blight on the world, a poison? Is every iteration of my horrible soul so _bad_ it's just going to become a monster no matter how much I don't want it? Riza... I'm sorry. I don't know where I went wrong, or what's wrong with _me,_ but-"

Finally at her limit, Roy's words finally breaking the sens of paralyzed shock she'd descended into, Riza stopped him. 'Roy." She dropped her hand onto his shoulder, sadness twisting inside her when she felt how tense and shaken he really was. He was holding himself so stiff she could almost visualize him snapping, breaking just like that, and she gritted her teeth, holding him steady. She still didn't really know what she was supposed to say but she _did_ know that she simply could not allow this to go unchallenged any longer. "Roy. I told you the day I promised to follow you I'd only do so as long as you didn't break from our path. And despite everything... _everything_ that has gone wrong, you never have. You've made mistakes, we both have, but I never would've followed you this far if I didn't believe in you. You're a good person, Roy." She broke off to rub his shoulder again, massaging into him in hope to possibly loosen the tenseness. "Whether or not you want to believe that."

Slowly, Roy turned his face to look at her. The bleak shadow of his eye gave her absolutely no hope that she was convincing him of anything at all, and, truly, his pale face didn't look like he'd even listened to her at all. He just watched her calmly for several long seconds, head tilted to the side- then simply went at it again.

"Have you ever thought about the children I murdered, Riza?"

Her heart skipped another beat. Roy was nowhere near done.

"The surely hundreds of them?" he went on coldly, as uncaring as stone. "The ones who got trapped in my fires, whose faces I never even saw? Who never had a _chance?_ That I killed just because someone with a few stars on his shoulders told me to?" He tilted his head to the side, and it was almost frightening, how completely _empty_ he looked in that moment. "You know, if the Elric brothers had been Ishvallan? I probably would've... no. There's no probably about it. ...I _would_ have killed both of them without even a second thought. I would have murdered them in cold blood."

Riza's stomach twisted, sorrow piercing her through like a red hot blade.

He'd left her out of it, she noticed- not accused her of sharing any of that terrible war, speaking as if it had all been him and him alone. But that didn't change the fact that she was just as culpable as he was...

But it also didn't change the fact that he was right.

"...I try not to think about that, sir," she managed at last, voice weak, and she tried in vain to swallow back that familiar, guiltridden torment inside of her.

It helped, that she was just as shocked as she was guilty.

The _Elric brothers?_

Where had _that_ come from?

Again, Roy didn't reply for a long time, but Riza held very little hope that her words had gotten anywhere at all with him. Words usually didn't. It had been why he and Hughes had been such good friends; he'd quickly learned there was no hope in trying to persuade Roy when he was stuck firm in his own self-loathing and that the only way to break him out of it was to shove him out of it. But Hughes wasn't here anymore, and Riza wasn't him. She couldn't be for Roy what Hughes had been, and right now, as badly as she wished- she couldn't be what he needed. Riza bit her lip, hopelessly wracking her mind for anything she could say to him, but she just drew a blank.

Where had this come from? She knew Roy had felt something like this for a long time, not through any direct admission of his but accidentally alluding to it, the sort of half-answers when he gave when he didn't want to tell her the truth, but...

She had never had any idea it was this bad.

"...I never wanted this, Riza." Slowly, Roy brought his head back up to look at her. Half his face hidden and scarred, the other half lost in such apology and regret it took her breath away. "I don't know what else to say, or what nonexistent god I'm meant to plead my case to, but I just... I wish I were anything but me. And if that's not possible, I wish I'd never existed in the first place."

And to that, Riza was too shocked to have an answer.

* * *

Ed spent most of the day in a daze.

Roy had left that morning, telling him only that he needed a few hours to do something and that he'd be back tonight. Ed hadn't known what to say to him, didn't remember giving him any sort of a reaction at all. The general hadn't given him much of anything to go off either; his stare had been flat and unfeeling, everything about him slumped and that cocky aura of his that he'd used to hate gone like a popped balloon. He'd just left Ed alone, and Ed...

Had had no idea what to do.

He hadn't meant what had happened the night before. He'd intended almost none of it, but as the story had gone on it had gotten harder and harder to keep his head on and look at Roy and not see- someone else. He'd started it as a calm retelling of what had happened on the other side of the Gate, something, quite frankly, he'd known was _going_ to happen at some point, no matter how desperately he tried to just not think of it- but it had become something very different, and all Ed could remember fueling him as he turned to Roy and accused him of murder was the memory of him executing his brother.

Even though he knew it hadn't been him.

He sat nervously on the couch now, trying just not to think. That was something he did a lot of nowadays; avoided thinking. Thinking was bad. He'd start thinking, and all paths led him to Germany, and Germany led him to Rainart, and Rainart led him to Al and he- couldn't.

He couldn't.

Normally, he read alchemy books. Sketched circles; simple transmutations just to activate them and prove he was home. Read history books, scouring them for any mention of Germany or France or Nazis. Normally, he did anything he could think of to keep his mind occupied and _not_ thinking about Dachau.

Today, however, he was doing something a little different.

Once again, one of Roy's old alchemy books was in his lap. Most definitely outdated, practically ancient, and almost entirely useless, and flipped to the chapter on blood chemistry, piled in his lap as he worked over the destroyed picture of Roy and Hughes, trying to transmute it back together.

That picture was another thing that had never been his intention.

It'd sat next to him for weeks, and he's just ignored it, treating it like any other part of the general's home that was of no consequence to him. The night before he'd ignored it just as much as any other, and it honestly _had_ been a complete accident when he'd knocked it to the floor. He hadn't meant it at all, and had been just as surprised as Mustang to see it underneath his foot...

And right then, the only thing he'd wanted was to shut that bastard up. Get him the hell out of his face and provoke him into fighting back for _once_ in his goddammed life, and he'd seen the picture, and right then all he'd known to do was smugly ruin it right in his stupid face and finally get him to snap.

Out of the heat of the moment now, quietly, to himself, Ed could admit just how shitty a move it had been. It had been out of line and undeserved.

Worst part was, it hadn't even fucking _worked._

But, then, really, the same could be said for most of that night.

He'd lost any bit of control he'd ever had here, back in Amestris, and still only knew that he felt awful because of it, and had no idea what to do about it.

With a heavy sigh, Ed dragged himself to his foot, slamming the worthless alchemy book shut. It wasn't helping at all, and he turned to hobble back to the general's study instead, already running through the titles of the other books he'd seen. This was working out to be a damn good distraction, and that was all he fucking wanted. Just a nice distraction to keep him from thinking about _anything_ ever again.

While he was searching through the other books, he heard keys scraping in the lock, and immediately stiffened, alarm jolting through him like a lightning bolt. He dropped the alchemy text to bite the quick of his thumb, another roll of tension sweeping through the growing knot of guilt and regret in the pit of his stomach. Roy was back. Roy was back, and- and the bloody picture, the sketched out practice circles were all right out in the fucking open- it was one thing to try and fix the damn thing, it was another for Roy to _know_ about it. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he didn't like it; the looks the bastard would give him, sad, pitying, maybe even forgiving him for it- nope, nope, not interested. In a rush, Ed limped back towards the door, shouldering his way back out to the hall.

"Thank you for the ride, Major. It wasn't necessary."

Barely two steps away from lurching into view of the door, Ed froze.

"Actually, it was, sir. ...Are you all right?"

"...I think, after everything that I've done, I don't deserve to be able to answer that question with a yes."

"Sir..."

Hawkeye. Hawkeye and Mustang.

Slowly, nervous anxiety growing and growing into a lead ball in his stomach, Ed inched forward in a silent limp just enough to catch a glimpse of the door.

From this vantage point, he couldn't see Hawkeye at all, only the light outside filtering into the dim sitting room and framing Mustang as he stood in the doorway. He couldn't really read his expression like this, but couldn't risk getting closer; Ed remained hidden back in the shadows to watch as the general started to take a step back, raising a hand to shut the door.

A pale arm jerked out, strong fingers latching around his just as he tried to complete the motion. No words came, but something must've shown in Hawkeye's expression, because Mustang's own softened into a sardonic, pained grin. "Oh, Major. With what little honor I have, I swear that I'll take care of myself." Carefully, finger by finger, he removed her hand from his arm, then reached out beyond the door to touch her; a shoulder, or her hair, maybe. "Is that better?"

He still couldn't see Hawkeye's expression, but Ed imagined that comment had done very little to improve it.

"...Please... please, General. Please, just... tell me what happened. Who- w-who the _hell-"_

"Who the hell did this to me, who the hell you have to kill?" Mustang chuckled quietly, and it was one of the most sorrowful, self-disgusted sounds he had ever heard in his life. "Good day, Major Hawkeye," he finished softly, and shut the door in her face.

After that, he simply leaned against it, head pressed to the wood, eye shut, and so deflated and defeated it was as if he wanted to just sit down against the door and never get up again.

Roy did move, though it was after so many long seconds of just standing there like that Ed had started to doubt that he would. It wasn't anything groundbreaking or relieving, though; he just limped the few feet towards the couch, dropped the cane to the floor with an empty clatter, and collapsed woodenly onto the cushions, pillowing his head in his arms to press his face into a pillow.

He didn't even notice the old picture or sketches of arrays he was lying on.

Ed hesitated.

 _You should say something,_ something close to Al quietly reminded him, an imagined sort of wish-fulfillment to browbeat his conscience into action. _You're the one who messed it up._

He bit his lip.

_Edward._

...damn it.

Even when he'd been alive, Al had been the closest thing he had to a voice of reason and the embodiment of his conscience. It really wasn't surprising that he'd continued to be so now.

Nervously, Ed forced himself to limp out into the room, nails digging into his crutch and eyes on the ground. His stomach twisted at the thought of the confrontation to come, tugging him into an uncertain ball of anxiety as he finally came to a stop in front of him, and managed to hold still as the general slowly cracked an eye open to watch him.

"...hey," he hedged weakly.

"...hey," Roy returned back, and shut his eye.

Ed shifted on his foot, lowering his gaze to the floor. "Can I, uh, talk to you for a second?"

"...Edward. Please."

Again, it was Al's voice that made him stay, and reminded him he had a responsibility to fix this.

"I really have to talk to you for a minute, Roy."

The general just watched him for a long moment, dragging his eye open to level a flat, utterly empty stare on him, heavy with tired speculation. After a long beat of silence, he sighed in defeat, shutting his eye again but slowly, painfully, pushing himself upright, shuffling into a slumped sort of parody at sitting up and rubbing a hand over his tired face. "What."

At first, Ed tried to just stare at his eyepatch; when that didn't help he jerked his gaze back down to his knee, forcing out a shuddering breath. He reminded himself, over and over again, that this was Amestris, he was home, and that this _wasn't_ Rainart. It still hurt, to force his thick voice back the growing lump in his throat, but he kept himself sitting down there on the coffee table anyway, reminding himself the whole way that this was something he needed to do.

"About... yesterday. And last night. And... what I told you." Slowly, unable to stop himself, Ed reached down to fiddle with truncated thigh, shaking fingers clutching the pant leg into a desperate fist of nervous tension. "I wasn't exactly honest with you."

Roy watched him motionlessly, uncombed hair shadowing his eye and the exhaustion of a late night shadowing his face.

"I didn't- lie." He tried to meet his eye, but the moment he did leaned away at the exhausted guilt he saw there and pinned his gaze back on his knee, fidgeting. "Nothing I said wasn't true, it's just... I didn't tell you everything. I omitted a lot of stuff that you... should probably know."

Still, Roy didn't say anything, but he didn't stop him either, and Ed supposed that was the most he could hope for.

It took him several long moments to decide where to start, still fidgeting on his seat and fighting each and every word he had to say past a sea of discomfort and sickened memories. It was too hard to remember all of what he had to; he'd spent so long desperately blocking it all out- and even if he _hadn't_ there just wasn't a way to put it all into words- but he couldn't just leave this alone...

"I told you that you and Rainart were really similar- that it wasn't just how you looked, that the sort of people that you _were_ was very close. That wasn't a lie. You two aren't the same, but you are similar. I just... left out why exactly that's true." He stared harder at his lap, clenching his fist. How the hell was he supposed to go about this? Should he be vague; try and spare himself the struggle of remembering it all and tell him just enough to understand? Should he be specific, ignore his own feelings to give Roy every last detail and actually make a damn _effort_ to do this right, the way he knew Al would've wanted? Where should he even start from; from that first conversation when he'd started to realize the truth or the very last time he'd looked into his eyes? Should he-

Should he-

"The Nazi soldiers weren't monsters!"

It took Ed several seconds after the declaration to even realize he'd said it aloud, the bitter taste in his mouth overwhelming. Next to him, Roy hadn't so much as moved.

He swallowed, still trying very hard to just look anywhere but at him. It took him a moment to find his voice again, and when he did it was a pathetic sort of thing, barely even managing to stumble past the growing lump in his throat. Well, that was as fucking awful a starting place as anything else, but evidently his brain had decided it was a good idea, and he was given no choice now but just to commit and go for it. He could not turn back now. "I mean... a l-lot of them, anyway. I'm not... don't get me wrong, lots of them _wer_ e the scum of the earth, and Hitler was- but, god, it wasn't all of them. Lots of them were in the military before... things went bad, and then a ton were just forced into it- and they didn't have a choice. Most of the ones assigned to the camps, it wasn't because they wanted it." He hesitated, struggling to find a way to put the feeling into words. "If you said no, it wasn't just you that got fucked over. You, your family, your friends... there wasn't a choice-"

"There is always a choice," Roy interrupted softly, and Ed's voice lurched to an unsteady halt.

"...Maybe there is. And, I'm not defending what they did. But..." The words still stuck in his throat like molasses; his gut churned, his hand shook; his mind raced with all the hells of that concentration camp and the people who had done them, and the soldier sitting across from him now. "Functionally, there really isn't. If you- if _Rainart_ had deserted, they would've caught him and killed him, and it's not as if that would've helped any of us. They just would've replaced him and kept killing us anyway."

There was a long beat of silence, and even in that uncertain quiet, he could feel Roy's one-eyed gaze weighing on him, as heavy and uncomfortable as iron. At last, shuffling back as if he wanted to lie down again, he murmured, "If that's all, then-"

"No. It's not. Shut up." He bit his tongue to stop the reflexive flash of irritation; if he let himself get angry and start talking without thinking, this would turn into last night again, and that was what he was trying to avoid. "Look, I'm not defending anyone, and it's not like that shit- Rainart and I, I mean, were friends, but... he d-didn't... he w-wasn't a mons-"

"Please, Edward. Stop. You don't have to do this."

"No, _you_ stop! I- I _do_ have to say this, I-!" Damn it, this was impossible. This was all wrong, he couldn't do this. "It wasn't _like_ that, you, _you-" Al..._

Gasping, Ed doubled over onto himself, trying to somehow find an anchor to keep himself in the present and away from Dachau, but he just couldn't. His stomach tightened until he felt almost sick and his head swam, battling nerves and the terror that tried to rise at putting himself back in the place and remember surviving it all. "He w-wasn't... I... _shit,_ I can't do this..."

Come on. Come _on,_ he could do this. Because he didn't have a choice, right? He had to get through this. Al would _never_ let him just leave it alone and not fix what he'd broken. He had to do this. And he could, right? It wasn't a big deal. Just talk for a few minutes more and then he could go back to his room and hide under the fucking sheets for all it damn well mattered, just get through the fucking thing- _damn it, Ed, damn it, stop being such a fucking coward-  
_

If he could just stop fucking _shaking-_

One strong, warm hand fell heavily on his shoulder, gripping so tightly it took all his strength not to flinch back.

"Ed," he murmured, and just like that, just his _voice,_ provoked such of a sea of emotion so violent it was all he could do not to run. But he didn't do anything to him. The general just sat there, calm in every way that Ed needed, and said quietly, "It's all right. You're not there anymore." There was a short pause, the general's fingers digging into his skin like an anchor, and belatedly, somewhere in the frantic mess in his head, Ed wondered how the hell Roy had even known what was wrong. How the hell he could be so _calm_ about this-

No. It didn't fucking matter. He was stalling. All he had to do was get himself through this and then he could hide for the rest of the night back in his room. _That_ was what he had to think about- there was just no room for anything else. Digging his fingers into his hair, Ed hissed out a moan, remaining doubled over and fighting to focus. He forced out unsteady breaths through tightly clenched teeth reminding himself to stay calm; over and over again, just _stay calm._ Roy wasn't going to do anything to him. He never did, he never would. If there was anything these last few weeks had proven, it was that; there was nothing to be afraid of here, not anymore. Whatever he did, he _was_ safe here.

That, and the way Mustang had looked when he'd gotten home, so defeated he was almost dead, was what he had to force himself to remember to force his mouth open and keep talking.

"I told you that the first thing they do at those camps is look at you, and they either send you into the camp to work, or they kill you. I told you Rainart let me and Al live. Well, that's not... exactly... how it happened." He knew he should look Roy in the eye for this, but somehow, that would've made this all a hundred times more difficult, and he just couldn't bring himself to. Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, his hand climbed up to touch his empty shoulder, and his stomach jumped and twisted and turned all over again. The complete lack of _anything_ there, not even a limb but no metal ports or wires or _anything,_ so completely unfamiliar and vulnerable...

God, he couldn't fucking stand it.

Once again, Roy carefully squeezed his shoulder. This time, Ed had to swallow hard and clench his teeth together to stop himself from potentially getting sick all over the carpet.

"Rainart let Al live, yeah. There wasn't anything wrong with him. But... my automail... I hid it, back in Germany, automail doesn't exist over there, but it didn't fucking _work_ anymore. I told you, we'd broken it so they wouldn't try and conscript me into the army. I couldn't walk that well or lift much and anyone with two working eyes could see I was a wreck. Well... when he saw me... he sent me to die. H-he... sent Al to the left, and me to the right. He was going to kill me." He broke off again, struggling to find any sort of strength of voice to keep going on. "At least, I thought he was."

Then, Ed remembered, he'd been too shocked to even be scared.

"Ed..." Roy started weakly, hand suddenly limp on his shoulder with horror. Ed kept his gaze down; to see him looking like that, that regretful miserable, _apologetic_ , and trying to remember Rainart like this- it was just too difficult.

"Yeah, well, that's my point. I thought he was killing me, but he wasn't." He forced his hand off his empty shoulder to not look so damn vulnerable, clenching it tightly in his lap instead, and still refusing to so much as risk meeting Roy's gaze. "Later, just a couple minutes before they were going to take us to the showers, Rainart showed up again, and took me aside. H-he... told me there were seven children... s-seven kids too young to survive there, and that we were ten miles east of a secret safehouse for Jews. ...He'd hide us in one of the trucks, and have us smuggled out after sunset, and it was going to be my job to escort them."

Roy's hand went limp again.

"I... don't understand," the general mumbled at length, hesitant and unsure- but Ed knew full well that he understood exactly what he was saying. He just didn't want to hear it.

Which was understandable, he supposed. He hadn't wanted to accept it for a long time, either.

"He was smuggling kids to safety," he spat, nearly choking the thick words out in almost anguish. "The fucking asshole- there were at least a hundred of us there, just that fucking day, and he was still killing _ninety two_ of them- but he was saving us." Ed shook his head violently, against burying his face in his hand, just for any excuse not to even the bastard's stupid _silhouette_ across from him. "It was a huge stupid fucking risk; he could've been caught _so easily,_ and they would've executed him and thrown his family in Dacahu or Auschwitz or wherever the fuck- but I kept watching him, and he did it every time they got new prisoners in. A couple kids every time, sent out with someone like me, injured or sick and about to die but old enough to get them to a safehouse... the fucking asshole was a murderer and still fucking trying to- to _help_ us. I-"

Ed abruptly cut himself off, choking the words into nothing to collapse over onto himself again. No. No. This wasn't what this was about. This was what had happened last night, he reminded himself; he started talking and the more and more he'd remembered being in that prison the weaker his control had gotten until he'd just spat out the words only with the intention to see him hurt.

As much as he wanted to hate them, this wasn't right.

It wasn't right, and he didn't need Al there to remind him of it.

"...Sorry," he breathed out finally, tight and controlled. His eyes were still down, and it took all his self control to keep his voice steady.

Roy recoiled him like the word had slapped him across the face. "You don't have to apologize," he gasped, horrified, and somehow, the self-loathing in the words made him sick to his stomach.

Ed once again found him having to lean over and breathe hard into his hand, fighting to get control of himself. After several moments, Roy's hand returned to his shoulder, this time gently coaxing him up off the hard coffee table, helping him shift around to sit on the couch next to him. Once there, close enough to feel the heavy presence of the general by his side even with his eyes closed, Ed found himself suddenly craving it. It was out-of-nowhere reassuring, feeling him there like that, knowing he was there, knowing he wasn't going anywhere, wouldn't let _anything_ happen to him...

Part of him recoiled with such vehemence it hurt, from anything even relating to the idea of _Roy Mustang_ and _reassuring_ in the same sentence.

The rest of him needed it too desperately to mind.

Roy gave him several more moments, quiet and patient before venturing forwards himself, his voice unsteady in the dim, oppressive silence of the home. "Am I right in guessing that you refused his offer, because you wouldn't leave without Al?"

Ed hated himself again for the chuckle that broke into an almost-sob, bobbing his head in a miserable nod. "Yeah..." he whispered, not at all surprised that he had guessed it. It really wasn't fair that even after seven years, Roy still knew him well enough to guess that. _Guess I'm too damn predictable after all._ "I told him I wasn't going anywhere without Al, and he told me he couldn't get Al out. There were too many people who weren't going to last past that night there for him to risk everything on someone who could make it. All he was able to do was slip me back into the prison. ...When Al saw me, I'm pretty sure he hugged me so hard he broke a rib."

What had been meant to come out as something like a joke failed terribly, when his wet voice cracked and broke, dwindling into nothing but a whisper of mourning.

Because it wasn't a joke. It was what had actually happened. Al had watched him be pulled away to execution, what, if _any_ other soldier had been doing intake that day _would_ have been his execution, and had thought he was dead. And then, not an hour later, he'd seen him alive again.

He'd never been hugged harder in his life.

Ed now understood how Al had felt that horrible day better than he ever had before.

God, He missed Al so fucking much he couldn't breathe.

Once again Roy let him have the seconds, possibly minutes he needed to gather himself enough to go on, which was really starting to piss him off because he didn't _want_ to drag this out, he just wanted it done as fast as possible and Roy trying to be patient with him was really just making it worse. He choked the words out before he could see anything but his brother, standing there in the middle of a prison that might as well have been hell and face stretched into a beaming smile as he ran towards him in a joy so vibrant it could only be from his brother. Just keep talking, just keep talking, anything else except Al. "Look, Roy, what I'm trying to say is that Rainart wasn't- wasn't necessarily a bad person. I'm not going to act like I got all buddy buddy with him but I talked to him enough to know he didn't believe in what the Nazis were doing. Not all of the soldiers did. There were some, the SS guards, more than enough of them to make our lives hell, and I think there were a lot more who disagreed but didn't show it- who bought into the racism and the final solution shit because they couldn't justify what they were being made to do any other way. But there were a few... the ones like Rainart... who knew what they were doing was wrong and tried to help us any way that they could. There's just not much you can do for someone when the law of the land says they're not worth more than dirt."

"...Edward." Next to him, again not really meeting his eye, the general shifted, sounding and looking distinctly uncomfortable as he pulled his hand back to wrap his arms around himself. "I- appreciate what you're trying to do. I do. But-"

"No, you _don't,_ because I'm not trying to do anything except just tell you the truth. I know last night the way I told it you were like those psychopaths who actually _liked_ murdering us by the thousands and that wasn't true." Despite every bit of him screaming at him not to, to withdraw just as much as Mustang, Ed sat up fully and twisted to glare at him right in the eye, refusing to let him back away from this. "I'm not defending anything, but there really weren't any right choices there, you know? Only wrong ones, and... wronger ones. And I don't know how many people he killed. I don't even know how many people he watched die before he finally worked up the dammed nerve to try and do something about it. But at least he _did_ try and do something, to help out those that he could. That's more that can be said for a hell of a lot of the others. Most of the ones who didn't believe in the Nazi's stupid fucked up the ass ideology just went along with it anyway, executing us all and quietly guilting about it; at least Rainart actually tried to fucking do something about it, even if it only amounted to a couple of kids a week or some extra food whenever he could spare it."

"There is _always_ a choice!" Roy hissed, voice hoarse with vehemence now as he suddenly snatched his hand back, yanking it away to clench it so tightly his knuckles turned white. "There is _always_ a choice, he may have claimed not but you _always_ have the option to run, to kill your superiors, to _not_ kill a civilian. Your only option is never to become a monster just to follow _orders_ -"

"I'm not calling him a war hero, Mustang," he broke in, exasperated. "And I'm not saying what he did wasn't unforgivable. All I _am_ saying is that maybe, he wasn't this irredeemable monster of a war criminal, either."

Shuddering violently, Roy pulled even further away, dropping his own face into his hand to dig his fingers roughly into his hair. His breath was an exhausted, shaking sigh that he forced out, sounding like Ed's words had almost pained him; he looked even worse than he had last night. God, Ed hated this, it was too fucking much for him to deal with, seeing Roy like this and remembering Rainart like _that-_

He couldn't deal with it.

"He killed thousands of innocent civilians, Ed," Roy finally said, voice a hushed, anguished whisper. "There isn't any other word, for what he was."

"Then maybe I don't have a word for what he was," Ed sighed. "But the way I saw it, his choices were pretty much to be a murderer, or let someone else be a murderer in his place- someone who wouldn't even try to help us. ...There were a lot worse monsters than him for us to be afraid of."

Roy didn't say anything for a long moment, his eye still averted. He could tell this was something he felt intensely uncomfortable about, every bit of it, and found himself just watching as the general shifted awkwardly, as if struggling to find the words. "Why are you doing this, Ed?" he asked at last, sounding indescribably pained. "Why are you defending him? And to _me,_ of all people?"

Ed looked away as well, huddling up a little smaller on the couch. "I don't know," he said, which was not entirely the truth. Because Al would've wanted him to fix this and do this right, yes- but that was only part of the reason. "Why are you so determined that I hate him? Or to hate you for the things he did?" He shrugged offhandedly, glancing at the general out of the corner of his eye. "Like it or not, which I don't, by the way, you're pretty much it for me at the moment. If I off and decide I've just gotta hate the both of you, I... really don't have anywhere else to go. Maybe you're right- maybe it's wrong, and maybe from a more objective point of view I'd call you both monsters and be done with it, but I know some part of me might actually still like you and doesn't want to hate either of you, so- so please just don't try and make me."

He broke off then, not even looking to see Roy's reaction as he he dropped his face into his hand, forcefully wrenching his brain back on track. He needed to finish the story. He hadn't finished it yet and the longer it was left incomplete, the worse it was. It weighed on him more and more and more that there was still something left to say, inescapable until it'd nearly suffocated him. He had to finish this, before it really did crush him from the inside out.

This part in the story, the final one, the last piece, Ed had known was coming, and he'd known the entire time it was going to be the hardest. He looked away for several moments, struggling to get some sort of control over himself, and when that failed, just detach himself as much as possible. He could get this much out. It was just words, right? Just open his mouth, make the right sounds; none of that required thinking. Just put himself on autopilot, just- _whatever you do, Ed, don't think about it..._

His stomach one giant, tight knot of anxiety, Ed stared very hard at a crack in the opposite wall, measured each and every one of his breaths, and forced out the story, one monotone word at a time.

"I know Rainart didn't like punishing us. I lied about that, too; it wasn't always him, it was just whoever had that detail that week, but whenever it was him he didn't want to do it. At a certain point, you start to figure out which ones like causing as much pain as they can, and which ones are just putting on a show. It wasn't really that he liked us... he didn't know us that well at all. It was just the same with everything else- either he followed orders or got shot." He sighed, entangling a hand in a knot of his messy hair. It had been easy enough to remember that when Rainart had been punishing him. He'd felt worse pain in his life before, and as long as he'd just stared at the ground and told himself it was someone else doing it to him, it had been all right. It had been fine.

Whenever he'd gone after his brother, it had been a different fucking story.

 _Brother,_ he could almost hear Al say, a soft murmur at the very back of his mind. _Stop that._

Yeah. Yeah, he knew thinking like that wasn't helping.

He breathed out deeply, keeping himself calm again and not allowing himself to speak until he'd felt that hot anger cooled into something he could control. He focused only on his breaths and the harsh thud of his heart, not letting his thoughts even stray towards the part of the retelling that was next. He didn't have to think about it. All he had to do was just stay calm, keep his head on, and get through this.

He could do it. To make this up to Roy, after _everything_ the man had done for him thus far, because he deserved nothing but the full, honest truth, because-

For Al's sake, if nothing else, he _would_ do this.

Ed took a deep breath, clenched his fist back in his lap, and spoke.

"I also didn't tell you the whole truth about what happened the day that Al died."

Next to him, Roy stiffened so violently it was if he'd been hit, and Ed just closed his eyes and continued on.

Maybe it'd be easier, if he didn't have to look at him when he said this.

"When he shot... when he did it, it started a riot. They'd done it in front of everyone, and the other prisoners, they all liked Al and I, and it- I don't know how it happened, just suddenly there was a riot and Rainart and I were in the middle of it. I went for him, and he... didn't fight back. You saw how I was when I got here- he could've killed me without even trying. But he didn't stop me at all. He just sat there and let me. I got his gun and shot him, and... he never even tried to defend himself. He just let me kill him."

Roy stiffened again, and Ed left his eyes closed, because his story was not done.

He didn't know if Rainart had been going to commit suicide- but he did know, in that moment, that he had wanted to die, and been willing to let him do it.

It was the only person in his life Ed had ever meant to kill.

As against killing as he was, somehow, this felt like an exception. There'd been no life left for either of them anymore, whether he'd pulled that trigger or not.

"...Killing him wasn't... didn't feel like... enough. I shot him, he was sitting there _dead_ , there was a bullet in his fucking head and his blood was on my hands and- and _Al_ was d- _dead_ right next to him and that just wasn't... I wanted him to not- not _exist._ I wanted that whole fucking place to not exist anymore. ...so... that's... what I did."

Silence reigned for several moments, Roy obviously not getting the statement while Ed tried to figure out how to explain it as simply as possible. Just before he'd been about to make an attempt, though, the general jerked upright, grabbing his shoulder again in a grip like iron to swivel him around to face him, his eye wide with shock. "When you got here, covered in blood- that array on you- you said, you said it was _my_ blood- that's what it was for, wasn't it?! You opened the Gate!"

Ed sighed, pulling away again to break his gaze, but Roy didn't let go of his arm, and somehow, he couldn't bring himself to yank away from it. The strong, warm hand on him felt reassuring, almost comforting, in a way, and he was too damn tired and frayed to analyze that right now but need that too much to reject it."Yeah," he muttered shortly, slumping back into the couch. He still felt shaky and shocked and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to force the images away. "I know you and I destroyed it, but- the Gate's not something that can _be_ destroyed. We blocked the passageway between our worlds, but it still exists. We just couldn't travel through it anymore. But it still exists, and Al and I had figured out a long time ago that was the key to using alchemy over there. You have to sacrifice someone, and open the Gate with their soul as payment. And, well... there you were."

Ready, and all too willing.

"I thought you said you couldn't travel between worlds anymore," Roy started uncertainly, and Ed could feel his stare weighing uncomfortably on him. "But if that's true, then how...?"

He shrugged almost violently, gritting his teeth to bite back the reflexive anger in his response. "I don't know; that wasn't the fucking _plan._ I opened the Gate with Rainart- and well, he was gone, fucking dead just like that, and I used him to destroy that fucking place. I killed whatever guards I could find, I took out all their buildings, the fence- all those Nazis were just fucking _dead_ and I- ...the plan was for me to follow Rainart. I wasn't suppose to survive. I was supposed to use up whatever alchemy I could then to follow him to hell. I didn't want to live past it. ...I guess Truth had other plans."

He should've seem it coming, really.

Truth always had other fucking plans.

Ed had planned to die that day, had planned to die the moment he'd realized Rainart was gone and so was his brother and his fucking _world_ was over. He'd planned to feed himself to the Gate and follow that fucking _shit_ straight to hell.

And Truth, of course, had seen fit not only to take him through back to the other side instead, but drop him right down into Roy Mustang's home.

Truth may have been a god, but he wasn't a benevolent one.

Slowly, Ed pulled his leg up onto the couch, wrapping his arm around it to tug it against his chest and lean his cheek against it. He blinked several times, head reeling, and took in a shaky breath, making a pathetic attempt at steadying himself before just squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing the moan. The torment growing inside him begged him to scream, cry, _something_ to get it all out, but- but he couldn't. It was all too much. There was too fucking much begging for release but there was nothing for him to do anymore; there _was_ no release except just letting it consume him until it killed him.

His eyes burned, and Ed just stubbornly pressed his face a little more against his knee, determined to hide it from Roy as something wet and ashamed trailed down one cheek.

"I'm... sorry, for how I've been," he mumbled at last, and it was only through a herculean effort that it came out even remotely steady at all. He swallowed back the crack that threatened to break the admission, desperately holding away the choked sob. "It's... been too hard, to do anything but hate you. And I wanted you to hate me back. I know it wasn't- wasn't _you_ that did all those things, but you're just s-so much fucking _like_ him- I just wanted you to get angry at me, to fight back and somehow j-justify the way I was treating you. I knew it wasn't right... but you never did what I wanted, you never let me keep on blaming you for everything that happened, you never- ...I'm sorry."

This whole time, this was all he'd ever fucking wanted. Just to see Roy fight back for _once_ and let him hate him, because hating him was easier than looking at Roy and not letting himself see Rainart. That was all he'd wanted.

Even though he'd known it was wrong.

Even though he'd known Rainart wasn't a monster, not really, and even if he had been, he wasn't _Roy._ Even though Roy hadn't done _anything_ wrong, and even though Al would _never_ have allowed him to do this. Would have never _wanted_ him to do this. Al would've been so horrified with everything he'd done; so horrified, sickened, _disappointed_ with him...

A weak, almost broken laugh stumbled free. He'd let Al down again. It was almost funny, in a horrifying, heartbroken sort of way. All he'd ever wanted to do with his life was make sure his brother was happy, and he'd failed with every step of the way.

Slowly, gently, Roy's hand returned to his shoulder. The grip was cautious but firm, and Ed just did not have it in him to resist as the general carefully coaxed him into turning back around to face him once again, Ed slumped and pulled away into himself, Roy sitting up over him and keeping him there with a hand he couldn't break away from.

"Ed," he said quietly. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

For a long moment, Ed just looked at him.

He looked at Roy, and for the first time didn't look at him to compare him to Rainart or see him as a monster. He just looked at Roy. Half his face covered, and the other half drawn and tired, cheek even darkened with the fading remains of a bruise- a bruise _Ed_ had put there. His one exposed eye, ringed in an exhausted circle, again Ed's fault- that said nothing but sincerity.

Despite all that Ed had done, Roy meant what he'd said. In Roy's view, he hadn't done a single thing wrong.

Roy was still there with him, and never was going to go.

He still cared about him.

Weakly, without ever deciding to, he opened his mouth. He started to try and stammer out something. A thank you, another apology, _something._

All that came out was a choked sob.

Roy's eye widened, somehow even more exhausted and pained in the dim light than before. The hand on his shoulder tensed, then shifted, first one arm drawing around his back, then the other, and before Ed knew what was happening he'd been pulled forward to hide his face in his chest and his vulnerable, crippled, pathetic body in his arms.

He didn't say anything, but, then, he didn't have to. The warm, reassuring strength of his grip said everything he needed.

He couldn't return the embrace. Already huddled up like he was, he just didn't have it in him to unlatch his arm from around his knee to wrap it around Roy, and Ed found himself curling into an even smaller ball in his arms, trying to hide his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, but it was so soft and muffled the man hadn't even heard him.

Whether he had or not, all Roy did in response was press Ed even tighter against him.

There were no words either one of them could say.

But for the first time since he'd returned to Amestris, the heavy weight that had been dragging down every inch of him felt just a little bit lighter, and he didn't want Roy to go.


	12. L is for Lebensmüde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lebensmüde: one of those cool German words that doesn't exist in English. By my understanding, it translates to life-weariness. Severe depression, maybe... we all know where this is going...

This was, unequivocally, the first time that Roy could actually say that they had turned a corner, and then not have to take it back not even a day later.

This was progress.

It was good.

The days after the revelations about Germany and Al were still almost intolerably difficult, of course- when he said it was good, that was all he meant. It had been no miracle to return the person Ed had used to be. Neither one of them knew much of how to act, both of them testing the changed waters with uncertain, awkward probes and resorting to silence more often than not, but to him, it was very clear how bad it still was... and yet, still, better.

It was strange, but Roy, for one, and he suspected Ed as well, could tell that even with as much trouble as he was having, he still _was_ greatly better than before. It was like the long-awaited telling of what had happened in Germany had been like the draining of an infected wound: indescribably painful, even agonizing for them both at the time- but now that the poison was finally gone, Ed could finally start to heal.

This healing, however, was not the huge step forward he'd been hoping it would be.

As he'd realized, it was no miracle.

After so many weeks of Ed trying to provoke him, it was still the kid's habit, it seemed- but now, he would snap out of it quickly, and usually with a muttered apology or wince, and always with an ashamed, guilty shadow in his eyes that hurt to witness. There were still the insults, too, but these- these were just Ed being Ed, just who he _was;_ it was possibly the most familiar thing he'd seen from the kid in weeks.

In truth, he'd missed the hell out of them.

Ed also still hit him sometimes, but no longer was it ever on purpose. Roy knew the difference between someone swinging wildly from fear or pain and someone actually trying to hurt him, and that was the line, it seemed- even as Ed tried to fight back any other lingering habits, that was the one place he never ventured to again. He'd never actually looked at Roy, recognized who he was, and gone after him. Now, it was only ever an accident, when he was coming out of a nightmare- and, god, did Roy understand it now; he couldn't even imagine how terrifying it was to be woken up by _his_ face- but it was never, ever on purpose.

Even worse was the apologies he'd get afterwards. If there was anyone in the world who didn't deserve to feel that awful, or that Roy didn't deserve an apology from, it was him.

It didn't take Roy long, however, to realize that just because he acted a little more like Ed, albeit a traumatized and grieving one, did not mean he was truly getting better.

True, he wasn't hostile anymore. He seemed to have finally realized lashing out at him wasn't going to make him feel any better. He'd started to accept Roy's help.

But the anguished, devastated rage and sorrow that possessed him still hadn't gone anywhere at all.

It still took Roy a full week from this realization, two weeks after Ed had finally told him everything, to finally face facts. Two weeks, first to get the idea of how to proceed, then of Avoiding It and Dodging It to finally face the facts, and then, cave in.

Still, it was with a very discontented air that he hesitantly approached the table, where Ed was picking through his breakfast like he lacked an appetite, and he just stood there leadenly and bit his lip, again contemplating the Very Stupid Streak of his that had led his brain to think this would be a good idea.

This was going to be the argument to end all arguments.

"Quit staring," Ed groused at him, sour as ever, not even turning around, and Roy grimaced.

"Okay," he agreed, walked calmly around him to sit down, and set the plastic pill bottle down on the table.

Ed didn't really give him the courtesy of a look, with that one, but he did pause for a moment, going still as his mouth slipped into an even more permanent frown. "Nope," he declared after a beat, then returned to nudging the lumps of food around his plate with his fork. "I'm feeling fine, I don't need them."

Roy grimaced again; bit his tongue. The fact that he knew Ed _wasn't_ feeling fine, not really, was quite beside the point, now, wasn't it? There was nothing Roy could do for that anymore, not unless Ed was willing to go see an automail mechanic who'd dig the broken wires out of his shoulder and thigh, and that was another one of their arguments that was going nowhere. "This isn't a painkiller, Ed."

Ed gave his food another disinterested nudge. "What is it, then?"

"...An SSRI."

"Oh." Ed glowered through his hair, not even bothering to tilt his head up but just _glaring_ at him through long, messy bangs and with a raw edge that he'd grown so very used to dealing with, by now. "Thanks for that, Dr. Mustang. I'll just go of dust off my pharmaceuticals degree. Maybe a dictionary while I'm at it. Because everything fucking random Joe on the street knows what the fuck an _SSRI_ is."

Then, he winced a little, dropping his gaze back down to the table, and his shoulders slumped in something that looked like guilt. "...Sorry," he mumbled, weak sincerity underlying it, and his voice even lower than before.

Roy breathed out deeply, shutting his eye through the caustic rant, and reminded himself, once again, of the virtues of patience.

"It's an antidepressant," he said quietly, letting the apology pass without comment, and waited for the first brush of the storm.

Ed went very still at first. Very, very still, the fork in hand freezing mid-nudge and shoulders hitching mid breath. He jerked ramrod straight, rough gasp grating on his ears like nails on a chalkboard, and the one hand he had fisted so violently around the fork he figured it was a wonder it didn't bend in half.

When he finally tilted his his head up, two fierce eyes meeting his so _violent_ that it was almost a wonder they didn't jolt his heart into stopping them and there, Roy once again wondered just how monumentally stupid he had to be to ever have thought this was a good idea.

"What," Ed snarled, "the _fuck-"_

"I'm not saying you have to take them," Roy interrupted quietly, rushing to get it in before the rant as he raised his hands in the universal gesture for peace. "I'm only putting them out there as an option."

"I'm not taking fucking _crazy pills!_ Where the ever fucking _hell_ you'd get an idea like that you- you _idiot?!"_ He swiped a hand at the table, sending the poor little pill bottle flying, but Roy was wincing for a whole other host of reasons than its irritable clatter against his kitchen counter, Ed's eyes livid and burning all over again. "I'm not taking that shit! I'm _fine!_ Where- where the fuck you'd even _get this shit_ anyway, Mustang?!"

Well, it was a shorter rant than he'd expected, but Ed was sputtering and red-faced, so angry his usual talent for verbal vomit had been thrown for a loop, leaving him struggling to even find the words of proper expletive level to describe his fury. He supposed he should be grateful. "I have it, Ed, because it's prescribed to me," he said calmly through the knot in his gut, and- just- there it was. That easy. That simple. Right out in the open, just like that. _See, brain? That wasn't easy. You could do that. Easy._

Still, the way Ed jerked again, going stock still, eyes blank with shock, and just _looked_ at him in a way that made him feel about an inch tall, had his insides curling to regret this _entire_ goddammed venture from the very start.

"I- what? I- you- huh. I. Oh."

Roy contorted his mouth into something approaching a smirk, at that eloquent response. Ed never had been very tactful, and in these past months, he'd stopped caring to implement what little of the skill he'd ever had in the first place. The confession had halted the rise of anger, through, thrown it straight off the tracks to leave Ed blinking and still, which meant it'd served its purpose. He tried to think of it just like that, as if that was all it was, when he went on. "I have a prescription for it," he said again, "a current prescription, same as for everything else of the pharmacy that is my medicine cabinet. I've read up more on how it works than most doctors, I'd reckon. I can't guarantee it'll work, but- it won't hurt, at least. And it certainly won't hurt to give it a try."

Ed worked his jaw for a moment, eyes blazing. He looked to be still struggling, choking on anger in his throat, and that was his first additional cue that this was not going to go well. As if he'd needed any more. "I am _not-_ " He waved his arm wildly, still so angry he was nearly beyond words. "I'm not taking fucking _crazy pills,_ Mustang! I'm _fine!"_

Well, it wasn't as if he'd not said such a thing- and worse- himself.

"They're not crazy pills. And you're not crazy. But you're not fine, Ed." He frowned, giving Ed a dark look to give him no room to challenge him again. "It has been weeks. And you-"

"Well fucking _excuse me_ for still _mourning._ You know, after watching _someone_ fucking _kill my brother-"_

And he deserved that, too, but had expected it; Ed was always like a poisonous barbed vine when provoked, so he took the punch and rolled with it. "You're not _still grieving._ You'll always be grieving, Ed. You'll never not be grieving. But you learn to live with it- and that's what you're not doing." And this was _all_ a terrifically bad idea; if there was anyone with no room to lecture someone about grieving properly, if there was _anyone_ who had no right to say these things to Ed- well, Roy was at the very top of that list. Even if this had been the type of thing Ed would normally be open to, which, once again... this wasn't.

Ed made a lurching attempt to stand, and Roy raised his hand before he could get off on the rant, taking his one chance to intercede. "I don't want to start anything," he began placatingly, rising as well. "Take them, or don't. It's your choice. Now, I'm going to go run a few errands. Okay?" He waited a moment, not really expecting an answer, then just nodded. "Okay." And without another word, Roy backed away, turning his back to walk quietly out of his home.

Ed was left behind, silently glaring bloody murder past his ragged hair, and the small pill bottle was left, untouched, behind with him.

* * *

Any errands Roy may have had, even when he dragged them out for as long as possible, ended up just barely taking him two hours. He wanted to give Ed as much time as possible, both to cool off and to actually consider things, but he could only order his personal driver throughout the city so many different ways before he was obviously starting to provoke questions. Given the fact that Ed was still hiding in his house, and very much in danger of being arrested, questions were something he needed to avoid.

Which was how, a good several hours before he'd intended to broach the situation again, Roy cautiously stepped into his home, already preparing himself again for the continuation of the argument to end all arguments.

There was no sign of Ed, and Roy quieted the lingering impulse to freak out. Ed wasn't going anywhere; if he hadn't before, he most certainly wasn't going to after such a small fight as this morning had been, and he didn't need to go race through his house like a nervous wreck to find him to assure himself of that. Pressing a hand over his eye, Roy shook his head and walked quietly inside, shutting the door just loud enough that Ed would know he was home. Glancing in the kitchen showed him the pill bottle was still sitting there on its side, neglected and untouched. Calmly, he pocketed it, then proceeded out to his couch to read, and to wait.

It didn't take long for the muted thump of Ed's crutch to reach his ears.

He kept his eye down as the kid limped to stand by his side, intense discomfort radiating off of him in waves- but not anger. He heard Ed shift about on his foot and cough, but it wasn't a fight or an argument, and that, he supposed, was the best he could hope for.

Finally, as cautious and hesitant as a child's first steps, he ventured quietly, "You said you took them? Those... those pills?"

Roy paused, his eye still down on his book.

"...Yes," he returned at last, and turned another page in feigned disinterest.

Hesitantly, he felt the couch shift as Ed limped to sit down on it as well, albeit as far away from him as he could get, Roy on one end, Ed pushing himself against the other. The kid fidgeted a little, plainly still uncomfortable and nervous. "Why would you do that?" he decided finally, sounding like there'd been a hundred other things he could've said and he'd only landed on that one at the last minute. The others, all surely more caustic or judgmental, and this one already overstaying its welcome in what minuscule tact and boundaries Ed was capable of.

This was going to be difficult, Roy thought, still staring blandly down at the book in his lap. Quite difficult.

But, he'd committed to this the moment he'd suggested the pills.

Methodically, Roy sat back, not meeting his eyes as he shut the book and folded his hands in his lap. He made no attempt to look even in Ed's direction, figuring this would be an easier story to tell if he didn't have to watch Ed's reactions while he did it. "How much did Alphonse tell you, over in Germany?" he asked, shutting his eye for a brief moment. "About me."

Ed hesitated. The space between them felt as wide and unbreachable as an ocean. "...Not that much. I asked him what happened to you after he first got over there, you know, with the eye and everything- but he didn't know too much. For as long as he could remember, you'd been a corporal stationed up north. He said people... didn't like to talk about you too much." He shrugged uncomfortably, fidgeting again. "To be honest, I figured he just had it wrong. The military would've done way worse to you for killing Bradley, and I couldn't think of any other reason you'd let yourself get demoted like that."

He smirked, fingering the eyepatch and still not looking at him. "Yes, they would have done worse to me. If they could've proved I killed him."

"What do you mean?"

"Bradley was a homunculus, Ed. He didn't leave a body. Believe me, they would've _loved_ to execute me- but charging me with his murder would've meant admitting on record that he wasn't human." He shrugged, ignoring the dull ache through his empty eye socket, the old pain that always seemed to flare up whenever he thought about that time of his life. "To be honest, the top brass really didn't know _how_ to feel about me. They may not have known or understood the specifics, but they're not idiots- they'd figured out something was very, very wrong with Bradley a long time ago, and were rather glad I had taken care of him. They couldn't decide whether they wanted to throw me in prison or promote me." He smirked, feigning a cool carelessness he hadn't felt for real in a long while. "Of course, keeping someone around who's got a history of murdering his superiors is somewhat... unwise. The situation was still delicate enough that I probably could've kept my rank, maybe even blackmailed a promotion out of them if I wanted to, though- there was no evidence on either side, and there I was with a convenient bullet in my skull, Archer as a nice and willing scapegoat and me, with a damn good reason to claim I didn't remember any of it."

"Then how the hell'd you end up a corporal in the north?"

Ed sounded a little annoyed now, confused and impatient with the seemingly random turn this had taken, though Roy found it quite hard to be irritated back. The familiar return of that caustic, easily provoked irritation... Good. Ed hadn't sounded like himself before, that hesitant and careful. He actually thought he preferred it, like this. He didn't want to be coddled or handled with kid gloves by _anyone;_ from Ed, it was unnerving, and just downright wrong. It was truly easier, like this. "Because, Ed," he sighed. "All of that would've required fighting. Fighting for my rank, my job, my reputation, all of it. ...And I didn't want to fight."

There was a dark, uneasy silence, everything so still he could've heard a pin drop.

He forced his head up at last, glancing at Ed through his hair as he leaned back into the cushions, unsure of what he was looking for but glad, at least, that it wasn't as bad as it could've been. "It wasn't entirely because of you," he explained quietly, forcing each bit of the reasoning out of him even with every iota of him yelling to just stop talking and ignore it, because of all the things in his life he didn't want to talk about, this was one at the top of the list. But as bad as he felt, he knew Ed felt even worse, and that was the reason he kept going. "There were a lot of reasons why. Maes dying, my career being essentially over, and everything I'd worked for for so long with it, my eye... but I won't deny you were a big part of it. I cared about, Ed, a lot- whether I showed it well or not. And... I believed you were dead. I honestly thought you'd been killed." He swallowed tightly and let his voice trail into silence, the words suddenly thick and uncomfortable in his throat.

The primary reason he didn't like talking about this was because he couldn't stand to remember how that had felt.

"At some point, it... just..." He shut his eye with a groan, leaning over to press his face into his hand. "Everything keeps stacking up on top of each other, and it keeps stacking, and stacking, and stacking, and you just deal with it, because you don't have any other choice- you don't realize it was getting too heavy to bear until you've already fallen and suddenly you're on the ground, and there's just not enough in you to get back up again. It's not just that you can't fight anymore, but you honestly don't want to. There's nowhere to start from, no strength to fight with, and nothing to fight _for."_ He left his hand over his eye, almost entirely just so he'd have the excuse not to see the look on Ed's face. He didn't know which would be more painful to see- the pity... or the quiet, twisted, and pained recognition, because Ed understood very, very well what he was talking about. "I let them court martial me and I don't think I even said a word in my own defense. I honestly didn't care what happened to me- hell, I think I was actually relieved when I got my sentence. No responsibilities, no duties anymore, nothing to protect or keep safe or care about. I was just too damn _tired_ for it all. I needed to be the person not giving orders, for a while. Someone else had to be in charge for me, because I couldn't be that anymore. My best friend was dead, my ambition was gone, _you_ were dead... the command council didn't intend for it to be a mercy, when they sent me north, but it was. They'd sent me somewhere where I really could just lie down and... and not even really _exist_ , and back then, that was all I knew how to be."

This was about Ed, he reminded himself calmly. This was about doing whatever he could to help Ed. And since Ed was the focus here, he could focus on Ed, and he could do this, because he didn't have to think about anything else but helping Ed.

Ed was quiet for a long while, perhaps because he was more perceptive and observant than even Roy had given him credit for, and was factoring in this new information with everything else that had happened in these past weeks. Roy did his very best to calmly ignore him, and set about fixing his eyepatch down to the last centimeter, hopefully putting off a picture of normalcy even if this was anything but.

"That's why," he said at last, still cautious, "you've been so- so."

"So," Roy returned, unable to help another smirk.

"So..." Ed gestured, flapping a hand about as eloquently as he ever did. "So... this. _This._ I... doormat-y."

Roy winced, and, several seconds later, Ed winced as well. "I- sorry-" he stammered, sounding almost flustered, and Roy had to slip his hand down from his eyepatch to his mouth to hide a smile. "I don't mean- like-"

"No," he chuckled, waving down the apology with his free hand. "You did mean it, and it's fine. You're right, and there are a lot worse ways you could've put it. You... are right. I realize that the person I was before you left probably never would've put up with any of this; well, that's not who I am, anymore. For better, or for worse." He paused for several moments, allowing the smile to slide away into something more serious before pushing himself to sit straight, finally turning to look Ed right back in the eyes. "No- definitely for worse. I _have_ changed, Ed, and most of it's not in good ways. It's not a good place to be. And that's why I brought this up. I'm not trying to- to _rush_ you, or give you any sort of timeline to adhere to with this, and I know I'm the _last_ one you want to hear this from- but this path you're on is not one you want to stay with. This is where it ends, and this is not something you should ever want to be"

Ed stared at him, eyes wide but unreadable, lit with some sort of uncertainty but, at last, the understanding he had been waiting for. "Take it from one who knows, huh?" he muttered, and it wasn't a question, but Roy nodded anyway.

"Yes."

The alchemist leaned back into the couch again, breaking his gaze to huddle up onto himself again and watch unhappily across the room. He drew his arm around himself, half-lidded eyes shadowed by overgrown, greasy bangs, but he wasn't withdrawing into an angry shell like he had this morning. Rather, just avoiding Roy's eye, much like Roy had been avoiding his for most of this conversation, and he settled back to wait, at last confident that progress was coming.

At last, when it became apparent Ed wasn't going to speak, either because he had no idea what to say or at least no clue where to begin, Roy went on himself, re-settling himself against the cushions and reaching down to massage his leg, just for something to do with his hands. "Finding out you were alive five years ago helped a lot, but- well, it wasn't everything. If it wasn't for Hawkeye, I probably would still be a corporal slowly freezing to death in the north." He shrugged, shutting his eye. "She was the one who filed my appeal, without my consent, mind, and recommended the pills. Although, recommended is a pretty weak word for it... she didn't give me a choice."

Ed stiffened, turning his head just enough to look at him, and for Roy to catch the wary fear in his eyes. Smiling, Roy raised a hand in the universal gesture for peace and shook his head. "Don't worry. I meant what I said this morning; I'm not forcing you to do anything, Ed. Hawkeye just... she knew I'd never swallow my pride enough to do it willingly, so she stepped in and did what was best for me." He shrugged again, swallowing back the tired old taste of shame and humiliation. This was not something he liked to remember, to put it most mildly. "Ed, I'm going to be honest with you. Taking them saved my life. But they're not _all_ that did. They're not magic happy pills that make everything okay; what they did was change things; before I was standing at the bottom of a cliff, and after, I was still standing there, but now there are a few handholds so maybe I can climb my way back up. You still have to do all the work yourself; you still have to _want_ to to pull yourself back together again- all those pills did was just finally give me an avenue to do that. Shit still sucks. It's still _hard._ It..."

He broke off for a moment, struggling both to find the fortitude to keep dragging the miserable story out of him and to find the words. Ed wasn't an idiot, he'd recognize what he was trying to say here- but he still wanted to do this right.

"I haven't had a drink in five years," he finally landed on, desperate and random and hearing the words tumble out more than deciding to say them himself. "I'm sure you've noticed I don't have a drop of alcohol in my house. Before you showed up, I lived at work, because it was better for me to be around people then sit around here to mope myself to death. I'd go out and socialize even when all I wanted was to crawl into bed and never come out. I'm sure you've noticed how much of a disaster I've been, lately; yes, taking care of you has been hard, yes, it's made everything a whole lot fucking worse, _no,_ I don't require, want, or deserve an apology for it and I'll be very irritated if you start feeling guilty about it, so just don't. But, Ed... it's... it's fighting a battle you'll never win, Ed, and you're tired, and some days, it's all you can do not to stop, but you can't, because the day you stop, you lose. It's hard, and you have to force yourself every step of the way- but you do so anyway, because you make yourself believe there's something worth it to create out of everything that you lost. You make yourself believe there is still something _worth it_ there for you to earn."

And that was all he had to say.

That was all he wanted Ed to understand.

Al was dead. There was no getting past this, for Ed. He was never going to just get over it. Ed had never even been apart from him before, had been with him for nearly every single year of his life; Al, the only one who knew everything that he was and everything that he had ever done and been there with him through it all, the only one Ed had ever loved with every fiber of his being and loved him back just the same. And now, he was dead. There was no returning from that. Roy understood that, and he understood that he had never in his life felt anything that could even compare to what Ed was going through now.

He also understood that if Ed didn't break from the path he was on, he was going to end up destroying himself.

Ed slowly dropped back against the couch, still wrapped around himself and gaze averted. He shifted and stared down, radiating discomfort and unease, and his face was so shadowed and sad it hurt to look at him. He rested his chin on his knee, shivering slightly, and Roy just couldn't stop himself from reaching over the back of the couch to grab a blanket and drop it around his shoulders. Even as long as it went on, he swore he'd never get used to this; seeing Ed so small like this, drowning in borrowed clothes, right shoulder and left leg empty and dangling. It was terrifyingly vulnerable and stirred something deep within him, something instinctual and protective, and it was getting to be more than he could stand.

He wanted to say he could not believe that someone so similar to him- someone with soul-level similarities to him, if Ed was to be believed- could ever have hurt him this badly, on the other side of the Gate.

However, it wasn't so hard to believe, after all.

He'd butchered children just like Ed and Al.

If Ed and Al had been Ishvallan, he surely would've killed them.

That was just the kind of person he was.

Hesitantly, Ed leaned forward. He kept the blanket clutched around his small shoulders with one hand, seeming torn between looking across the room and at him. His breaths hitched several times, each a false start towards trying to speak. Finally, he let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, rubbing his face with a shaking hand.

"I'm not going to take those pills," he said quietly.

Roy let out one little half-smile, and nodded. "I know."

But Ed shook his head, not seeming to want it lie just like that. "I'm not being... thanks for telling me about them. And... offering, I guess. But... agh, shit." He rubbed his face again, this time with a scowl. "I know I've been messing things up. I know I've been... fucking awful. And I guess a lot of it was intentional. It's easier to be an ass than to actually... feel things."

Once again, Roy gave him a half-grin. "Believe me, I know."

Ed shrugged, still more occupied staring at his knees than really addressing him. "I'm sorry. I know I... I _really_ fucked things up, and- and I'm sorry. And I know me saying I'm sorry doesn't fix anything at all. But... but I've just been so busy trying to make myself blame you that I guess I didn't really h-have to think about... think about Al. Then I suddenly didn't have that anymore but I still just- didn't want- ...I don't think I have _anything_ anymore." He hugged the blanket to him again, small and withdrawn, inched away from him like he couldn't stand to even be close to him. "I don't have anything I'm s-supposed to be, or fight for anymore. I know I've lost people before, but I've always had Al to take care of; I always had to just keep myself together for his sake and that... I mean, he's more important than _anything!_ He's- he-"

Was everything to Ed, Roy imagined.

And a hole that big could never be filled.

"I- I know if Al could see me now," he went on, shaking now, and shaking badly "he'd be so- so fucking angry. He'd be s-so... so _disappointed_ in me. He'd tell me I know better than this, that I don't get to fall apart because of something like this, he'd be so mad, I can't-"

"I don't presume to have known him better than you, Ed, but I think you and I both know Al would _never_ say those things to you now."

Ed fell into an almost frightened silence, his tormented face turned away. His voice, first shaken and anguished, dwindled into something small, almost ashamed, and he stayed turned away, head down. "...Maybe he wouldn't have," he admitted at last, but Roy was just relieved he was willing to even concede that much. "But... that doesn't mean they're not true. What I'm doing _is_ disappointing. It is letting him down. And... I d-don't... know how to stop."

The alchemist shook his head after a moment, leaning forward to bury his face in his hand. Roy, taking a moment to shake off the cold pallor left behind by his words, took advantage of his averted gaze to carefully place a hand on his shoulder, again attracting his focus and attention without needing to be forceful. "Firstly," he said quietly, "Alphonse thought you were one of the single greatest people ever born in this world. After everything you two went through together, the one thing I'm sure of is that he would never look at you now and say you were letting him down."

Roy went silent for several moments then, choosing his words very carefully and watching Ed even more carefully, hand on his shoulder the entire time.

"And, secondly." He tightened his grip, enough to not let Ed withdraw and escape no matter how much he might want to. "You can only do what you've always done. You keep moving forward. ...and you do it whether or not you think you have anything left to move forward to, because you know it's what Al would've wanted."

Ed didn't answer him for a long time. He didn't even look at him, but he didn't pull away, either. He wasn't fighting him, and that was all he could really ask for. Roy waited in silence, hoping against hope this would end well and praying to a god he didn't believe that it at least wouldn't end badly.

Finally, Ed raised his head up just enough to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, but not hostile, at least, and Roy knew that had to count for something as the alchemist shifted under his hand, hesitant but... hopeful.

"You know how you said I could go to a mechanic in Central, for a prosthetic?" he asked quietly. He shifted, touching a trembling hand to his empty shoulder. "...do you... think you could call one for me?"

Roy smiled.


	13. M is for Mechanic

This was the first time Ed had been nervous in so long, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

He couldn't really define why he was so unsettled. There was nothing to be nervous about. Just going to see an automail mechanic; he'd done that plenty of times. Nothing to be frightened about. Roy had assured him multiple times that the mechanic was an old friend of his, very skilled, and trustworthy; there was no risk of the military finding out, and all he was going to do was fix up what remained of the ports and give him a simpler prosthetic. There was no danger here, and in just a few hours, it would all be over with, and everything would be fine.

None of this did anything to change the butterflies in his stomach when Roy came home the night they were set to go and told him that everything was in place, and all they were waiting for was him.

It was a little before midnight when Ed found himself fidgeting on the edge of his bed, biting his lip and trying to do anything over than stare at the clock and count down the minutes. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready, and he had no idea why not. He wanted to do this- he was sure of it; he'd agonized all day and the only thing he still knew was that he wanted to do this- but...

That didn't mean he had to feel good about it.

With a heavy sigh, Ed pushed himself up to standing, gripping his crutch so tightly his nails scratched the wood. Moving around would help. It'd distract him, both the exertion and pain, and right now, the way he felt, a distraction was really all he could ask for. He thumped around the room, breathing hard, his attention only on each stupid, unsteady step... but the nervous mess in his stomach refused to calm, and the cold, anxious chill crawling over his skin only seemed to grow the longer he just stood there and waited for the inevitable.

With an aggravated sigh, Ed looked down at himself for a moment as he paced, trying to draw anything other than hesitation or a cringe from his appearance- but that, evidently, wasn't going to happen, because he didn't look like anything other than shit.

It would be his first time venturing outside ever since that fateful night when he'd sprinted into the rain, the day that he had lost his automail. Roy had tried to be helpful and give him something other than pajamas, but the general, evidently, had even more of a pathetic social life than he did; he only had two sets of civilian clothes, and while Ed had easily alchemized them to fit, it was clear they weren't meant for someone his size. Then there was the empty sleeve and pant leg that just dangled, limp and useless... the very sight made him shudder just to look at it. It looked so hauntingly open and vulnerable his stomach churned. He _hated_ it. He'd hated looking like this ever since he lost his limbs. The automail was one thing, but standing here with two big empty spots where an arm and a leg were supposed to be... the pitying stares it got him, the helplessness, the weakness and vulnerability...

He couldn't even recognize himself in the mirror like this.

And then, there was his hair.

It was growing back out from the last time the Nazis had shaved it, an inch or two past his shoulders now and no longer the ugly, dehumanizing hack job that had made him shiver every time he'd seen it, remembering the feel of the razor against his scalp- or, worse, the sight of it against Al's. He'd wanted to fucking _kill_ them when he'd seen that- would've ripped them limb from limb and enjoyed it.

Now, though, the memory of that sickened fear and hot rage was finally starting to fade, fade just as his body healed. Thinking of it made his blood run cold and his stomach churned- it no longer blinded him with fury and sent a shockwave of true terror tingling down his spine, just like his old injuries only quietly stung rather than incapacitating him. The scars no longer hurt so bad, his stumps no longer ached like a fucking bonfire, at least, and his hair... it looked almost like it had used to, minus his braid. With only one hand, after all, he couldn't braid it.

His hair, the lack of limbs, the sheer helplessness that screamed from every bit of him...

He hadn't felt this handicapped since he was ten, and wiping away stupid tears as Pinako calmly combed his hair out of the rat's nest he'd made of it, trying desperately to braid his hair with one brand new metal hand that he couldn't feel.

"Edward?" There was a sharp rap on his bedroom door, loud enough to almost make him jump. "It's time. Are you ready?"

He closed his eyes, breathing out one long, heavy sigh in preparation, and turned his gaze towards the door.

No. He wasn't. He wasn't ready, but he had no idea why he couldn't fucking just get his act together and _be_ ready. There was no real reason for him to be scared, no reason for him to feel any of these things at all; it was pathetic and childish and embarrassing, and he was sick and tired of feeling like such a damn mess all of the time and really, _really_ just wanted one single day where he didn't feel like a walking disaster waiting to crack.

But there was nothing for him to do except shut his mouth, feel like shit, and follow through.

He limped for the door and nudged it open, doing his best to keep his eyes straight ahead and not on Roy. All he saw of the man was the general shape, hidden in his usual black overcoat and eyepatch, but he felt the weight of his worried stare bore into the back of his neck all the same. "Let's go," Ed forced out, clearing his throat, and led the way to the door.

Behind him, Roy lingered for several moments, plainly evaluating him, then just followed him on the way outside without another word.

It was late at night, long past time when anybody else would be in the streets. This was intentional. With Roy unable to drive him, they had both decided it was best to walk, rather than to risk involving another third party when Ed really shouldn't be seen by anyone else. He felt even _more_ fucking nervous to say the least, stepping outside like this, his skin crawling and itching with the instinct to hide or run- but it took him only a minute to realize the wisdom of the general's plan. No one was out here, and he could only jump at every unexpected noise so many times before he at last realized no one was going to come.

"Relax," Roy said quietly, and the soft thud of his footsteps on the pavement was reassuring in a way Ed almost hated. "No one is watching us."

"...yeah," he choked out, lowering his gaze to the sidewalk, and exerted every bit of will he had to keep himself calm.

It felt... strange, to be out here. Just the two of them, walking down a deserted street in the dead of night. Ed limped quietly by the general's side for a long minute, uncomfortable to say the least... and found himself getting even more uncomfortable, when he realized just how slowly they were moving, and just how patiently Roy was walking by his side. God, each _step_ took forever... it was fucking embarrassing. Roy was trying to make it look like he was just ambling slowly on beside him, taking his time because he wanted to, not to wait for him- but when they were moving at barely a crawl, and no matter how hard he tried, Ed couldn't manage any faster, the facade really didn't work at all.

"Thanks for not making me go in a wheelchair," he muttered, forcing himself to lift his gaze up to meet Roy's. "I know it would've been way faster."

Roy shrugged disinterestedly, shifting to bury his hands in his pockets with the same motion. "Would've had to make up some sort of explanation why I needed it from the infirmary. It's just easier this way," he said airily, like it didn't really matter at all, then glanced down at him. "Are you still all right? You know that we can go back, if you decide at any point you don't want to do this."

"I'd rather not have an out," he muttered crossly. He tried not to show how annoyed the words even made him in the first place, the fact that the general was trying to coddle him a fucking disgrace... whether or not he had every reason to do it. He'd been an ass enough to Roy lately. "I don't like doctors enough as it is. I know I need to get this done, I know there's not really any reason not to, so let's just... do this."

Roy paused. "All right," he said guardedly, mood impossible to guess by his tone, and continued walking.

Ed trailed on behind the general, allowing him to lead the way since, quite frankly, he had absolutely no idea where they were or where they were going. Roy obviously had planned out their route in advance, not just to find the place but to keep them away from anywhere they might be seen. He couldn't help but be grateful as Roy abruptly turned, taking them off the sidewalk and into the shadowed, sheltered path through the park, rather than keep on waling down to where he could see bright streetlamps and overhear the sounds of drunks socializing. He raised his head a bit, far more at ease like this, and felt himself fully relax for the first time since he'd come outside.

Or, as relaxed as he could be right now, anyway.

Then the wind started up, somehow colder in between the trees than it had been on the streets, and Ed couldn't help a little glare as he tugged his shirt tighter around himself. He'd had more than enough of the cold after winters in Dacahu, thank you very much.

Roy snickered quietly, but did at least have the grace to look properly abashed when Ed transferred his glare over to him. "Sorry," the general said innocently. "I'd offer you my coat, but..."

They both look at his full-length trench coat, then down at Ed, and then back to the coat.

Not even Ed could pretend he would fit in that.

"Shut your face," he muttered darkly, and stomped another step forward. "I'll have you know I was fucking average height, in Germany," which was a complete and utter a lie, but it wasn't as if the bastard could ever head off to Earth and confirm it.

"I'm sorry; did you neglect to mention that Germany was the land of the dwarves?"

He should trip the bastard.

Roy walked on for several more moments, then his smirk finally faded as he glanced back down at him, tilting his head. "If you tell me what you'd like, I can try and go buy some clothes for you. Just so you'll have something other than trying to make my things fit."

Ed glared. "Just so you can make fun of me when you shop in the kid's section, right?"

"Well, of course, Edward; surely you know that has to be part of it."

Ed rolled his eyes. He definitely had plans to whack him with his crutch, now, although that would have to wait until the bastard didn't see it coming. Continuing to limp on down the pathway, he shivered again, casting off the minor irritation aside to actually think about Roy's offer.

It took him only several seconds of thought to shake his head at it, though, turning his gaze back up at Roy. "Thanks, but... no thanks. I've seen your taste in clothes. So, like I said: no thanks."

"I've been told my fashion sense is impeccable. Granted, not in a good many years, but... impeccable." The general shrugged blithely, actually making an effort to exude that old, brazen and slick confidence the Roy Mustang he remembered had worn like a second skin, and that this one seemed to struggle to force. "As you are the wearer of leather pants, however, I will concede that my sensible tastes would surely be wasted on you. Which is why I offered to buy only whatever you would like, and not what I would like."

Once again, Ed gave him nothing but an eye roll, but this time actually allowed himself a moment of consideration. He hesitated, just limping along beside the detached general, then looked down at himself and the pathetic state of his clothes. As much as he didn't want to be even more indebted to Mustang, and as much as he still couldn't understand _why_ Roy was still willing to help him out at all, the man was right. If he was going to start trying to move on, he couldn't do so looking like this.

"...Something with long sleeves," he murmured at last, and gripped his crutch a little more securely as he took another step. "Beyond that, I don't care."

His empty right sleeve fluttered in the cold breeze, and they both looked down to it, watching the painfully helpless, vulnerable sight.

For several long moments, Roy didn't say anything. Ed wasn't sure if it was in his imagination or not, but he thought the general drew a step closer to him, tall and reassuring by his side. He continued to lead the way down the shadowed cobblestones, taking them past what was probably a pretty busy playground during the day, then glanced down to him with a calm, aloof sort of stare. "Okay," he said easily. "...Is it because of the scars?"

It was just a question; not a judgmental prying into something intensely personal, not with the kind of look in his eye that implied he was going to try and tell him he had nothing to be ashamed of, scars or not. Just a yes or no question, and that was the only reason he answered it. He wasn't in the mood to hear the damn platitudes that he had nothing to be ashamed of. With a short sigh, Ed opened his mouth, starting to say something- then just nodded, not wanting much to get into it. He knew it wasn't reasonable, really- and it wasn't the scars that bothered him so much as the staring. Although, he supposed it was a moot point, since only Roy would be seeing him, but...

He still didn't like it.

Roy just nodded; didn't press, didn't pry. Ed didn't think he had words to express how grateful he was to be able to say something like that and not have to face attempts to talk him out of it or try to make him feel better. There was something almost wonderfully relieving about that. He knew everyone meant well, but after so many years like this, it had gotten to be not only exhausting, but insulting, having his few friends trying to assure him he didn't have to hide the scars or care what people thought about him- that, simply, how he felt about it was _wrong,_ and he just shouldn't feel that way.

Roy, however, said nothing of the sort. All the general did was just nod, and allowed the words to pass with nothing but an understanding silence.

Exactly like Al would've done

Ed swallowed tightly, dropping his gaze down to his foot, and went silent once again.

"I can understand wanting to hide scars," was all Roy said to him, voice again quiet, almost hushed with acceptance- and this time, to turn his mind away from the quiet, strangling pain of thinking about his brother, Ed frowned.

"...You know," he started carefully, and, well, he knew it was kind of shitty, because all he wanted was a distraction so he didn't have to think, either about himself or the mechanic visit they were walking towards- but it was pretty low to go after something _this_ personal as a distraction- but, oh, fuck it. "You, uh, don't seem like the kind of person to let a few scars bother than you. I'm pretty sure I walked in on you showing one off to one of the secretaries once. Yet, here you are." He raised his shoulder awkwardly, gesturing at the spot on his own face that Roy hid by his eyepatch nearly twenty four seven.

The general let out a quiet chuckle, looking rather spectacularly unbothered by what most people would've considered deeply personal or offensive- but it sounded strained. "You did. If I recall, you didn't let me forget it for two weeks. ...But, some scars, women aren't very interested in seeing," and, well, wasn't _that_ the understatement of the year.

The general surprised him, however, by chuckling again, even more strained than before, and when he glanced up in his direction it was to see his one eye distant and pained. "You're right, though. I didn't really care about how it looked, when I was first shot. It didn't matter to me, it was just a couple of scars- I was being stared at for things a lot worse than my appearance back then, anyway. Then..." He sighed, digging his hand even deeper in his pockets. "Then the brass happened."

Ed paused, weighing his options, then just turned his gaze back to the path and let Roy walk in silence, uninterrupted. He'd tell the story in his own time, or he wouldn't. He didn't want to know badly enough to press. Not on something like this. Besides, after all the shit he'd pulled, these past several months, it wasn't as if he really had a right to start prying, anyway. Some days, he could still barely believe Roy was even willing to talk to him anymore.

It took the general another minute to continue as they continued their slow walk. Though his voice remained perfectly steady and calm, it was in that strange way Ed had started to notice Roy used whenever he had to talk about something this difficult, making it sound like it didn't really matter or bother him even though it obviously did. "When I was court martialed," he started with a heavy, heavy sigh, "they didn't let me wear it. The eyepatch, I mean." He shrugged bleakly, hands now clenched in his pockets like he was trying to stop himself from fidgeting with it. "The general running that circus took one look at me before it even started and said it wasn't allowed under uniform regulations, and I had to remove it. ...They did the whole trial like that."

A cold, hard anger started to rise in spite of his previous conviction to let him tell it uninterrupted. Ed stared at him, unable to help his gaze from being attracted to the eyepatch, then he swallowed and glared down at the ground. Military sucked ass in both worlds, apparently. "I guess no one bothered to mention Fuhrer Bradley had an eyepatch and no one fucking had a problem with it," he muttered sourly, and Roy's answering chuckle was nothing but bitter.

"Then Lieutenant Hawkeye did, actually. They were quite uninterested in her opinion."

Ed couldn't stop himself from laughing, even though he winced at how loud it sounded in the previous silence, but Roy did nothing but grin in reaction and shake his head, as if amused himself. "Yes, well," the man coughed. "It was petty, downright juvenile, but... it did its job." He shrugged again. "They even told my superior in the north not to let me wear it either, but he let it go after maybe a week. Captain Wesham didn't really see much of a point in continuing to kick someone who was already down... he was actually a decent human being. Apparently there are still a few left, in the military... god knows why." Roy paused, lowering his gaze to the ground and pausing once again, standing still in the pathway and staring distantly at his feet. "He actually really helped me out a lot, back then. At least, as much as I was willing to be helped."

It was quiet for several seconds, his eye just down on the floor, the man seemingly lost in thought. But then, with a visible exertion of will, he shook himself, anchoring himself back in the present, and general glanced down at him with a small smile, the old pain in his eye all but gone. "The mechanic we're going to see is actually his brother. Wesham didn't take me up on my offer to join my team when I got my rank back, but we've still stayed in touch... it's why I know we can trust this guy."

"Huh." Ed blinked, thinking over the new information, then let himself display another small grin and glanced away. "I was wondering where you'd met an automail mechanic."

"Don't presume to know my connections," the man said loftily, smile twisting into a smirk- and this time, Ed actually did toss his crutch out a bit to poke at him, and he sourly wished he had the balance to throw it at him.

Roy led him through the park the rest of the way. It felt like a little over three miles, which, now that he thought about it, was probably difficult for both of them in this cold, but he found himself grateful for the long walk. It gave him a chance to try and prepare himself, even though with each passing minute, he was starting to think no amount of preparation was going to help and he would've been far better off never asking to see a mechanic in the first place. It had been so many years since he'd had a proper maintenance job, it was going to _hurt_ so damn much... and he'd be so utterly fucking helpless- that was the worst part about not having automail, it made him so _helpless._

He still remembered what happened to the other prisoners, when they'd fallen ill or hurt... and then been sent to the "infirmary".

Through the trees loomed streetlamps, a soft yellow glow that reached past the low branches and hanging leaves. His mouth went dry in spite of himself, pace lurching to an even slower stumble, and he barely recognized the unsteady gasp as one of his own.

He wasn't ready for this.

Roy led him several more steps, steps that Ed only followed because he didn't know how to do stop, but then the general suddenly halted, and the strong hand that he'd found himself coming to rely on rested on his shoulder. "We're here," he said quietly, and nodded just across the street.

Ed's heart lurched, shocked into a panicked stampede in his chest, and he found himself frozen on the spot and unable to so much as take a single step forwards.

He didn't want to do this. He knew he needed to do it. He knew he _had_ to do this, and there was absolutely no legitimate reason to back out. He knew all these things, but none of it changed the fact that he just _did not_ want to do this. He didn't care it made him a coward anymore, or that he had no reason to feel like this except that he was just a pathetic mess of pathetic lameness- fine, he was a pathetic mess. Fine, he was a walking disaster, and without his brother was apparently nothing at all, and so fragile he couldn't get through a simple fucking doctor visit. Fine, whatever, he didn't care, he'd admit it all. He'd do _anything_ so long as he just didn't have to do this.

Roy's hand tightened on his shoulder. He didn't say anything at first, but didn't make him go ahead, either- which was good, because with his head spinning and that building looming like the fucking apocalypse in front of him, he didn't think he was even capable of crossing the street. But Roy didn't make him do anything, just stood there next to him, silent and- and _there..._ but when Ed couldn't fucking force his leg to move, the general crouched down in front of him until they were eye-to-eye. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just looked at him, lone eye dark and unreadable, and his face... understanding.

"Remember," he said quietly at last, the hand on his shoulder inescapable but... comforting, somehow. "Remember: this is your choice. If you ever decide it's too much, you can tell him to stop."

Ed breathed out a long, shaking breath, and shut his eyes.

He'd survived this as a pathetic, ten year old kid who had just lost everything.

Now, he was a grown man, who had nothing.

He could survive this now.

And did _not_ need to be coddled through it.

"Let's get this over with," he said again, shut his eyes through a violent shudder of violent fear down his spine, and limped forward into the street.

He shook Roy's hand off his shoulder, and he didn't look back.

He wasn't going to admit it to him, but right now, this on edge and shaken, looking at Roy was something beyond what he could handle, because it reminded him far too much of Rainart.

He wasn't going to fucking say that to him now. He'd spent the last several months straight doing his damn best to ruin his life and make him miserable, and yet, for some reason, Roy still seemed willing to put up with him. He didn't understand why, and knew that he could not _possibly_ deserve it- but he could try his hardest now to try and earn it. And what he did know now was that reminding Roy of Rainart would make the general feel that much worse, so he was just going to shut his mouth and deal with it. The fact that it made him feel like shit just did not matter. His own feelings on something weren't ever important, they just got in the way, making everyone else worry- because that was what he was best at, messing up people's lives and causing problems and pain for them _everyone_. His own feelings just needed to shut up and crawl away into a dark hole at the back of his mind where they couldn't bother anyone, because Ed was sick and tired of hurting people with his own pathetic wants and needs and stupid fears and insecurities and- just, _all of it._

The best thing he could do for Roy was shut his mouth about Rainart, no matter how fucking much his skin _crawled_ to see him right now or how much the sight made him just want to turn heel and run and never stop- so that was what he was going to do.

The automail shop felt cold, and impersonal, he supposed. Although, Ed suspected that was his bias speaking more than anything else; anywhere was bound to feel impersonal when he was measuring it up against the Rockbells, with his grandmother smoking in the corner and pictures of him and his brother on the wall. It wasn't bad; he would give it that. Even in the state he was in right now, he couldn't deny it wasn't the terrifying nightmare his stupid, overactive fear had been imagining. More professional than what he was used to, limbs neatly polished, shining, and displayed on the walls rather than scattered about the floor, tools all carefully put away, even what looked like a small sign-in desk in the corner.

It was neat, ordered, and professional. He wouldn't go so far as to say it was comforting, but- it wasn't the nightmare fuel he'd been expecting, and that was at least something.

Anthony Wesham was waiting by the wall, a small and unassuming figure standing underneath the display of a gleaming arm. He raised his hand in a small, welcoming wave, and Ed, suddenly uncomfortable, managed nothing more than a weak nod in return. He stayed put.

Roy moved forward to greet him, and Ed couldn't help but be grateful that the attention was taken off of him. He shifted awkwardly by the door, watching thankfully from the shadows as the general walked ahead to give him a firm handshake, reclaiming some of that old military confidence just like that. "It's nice to see you again. Thanks for agreeing to see us- I know this is a big favor to grant."

The mechanic grinned, accepting his hand with what was almost a wink. "Not for you, I'm afraid; just my brother. He's the one asking me to do this for you."

"Because he loves the idea of a general who is indebted to him." This was said with a smirk; then, however, the man dropped his hand and turned around, softening it into a smile, back in his direction. "Edward, this is Anthony Wesham, the mechanic."

Wesham raised his hand in greeting again, taking several small steps forward but not really an approach. "Nice to meet you, Edward."

"Ed." He shifted, fingernails digging so deep into his crutch he nearly dug splinters out into his hand. "...so, you're the mechanic Mustang told me about." He swallowed tightly, struggling to keep his gaze up off the floor and tolerate the anxiety still crawling down his spine.

The mechanic nodded again, but, at Ed's continuing silence, Roy's smile slid into a small expression of concern. The general started to hurry back over to his side while the mechanic remained across the room, watching him with a close eye even as he started to reach for a nearby clipboard. "Yes. My specialty is hands, but from what I understand, all you need is a standard maintenance job, correct?"

"...S-something like that..."

Roy rejoined him, placing a hand on his shoulder even as he turned back around to face Wesham. Ed fought back the urge to flinch away. "It'll probably be easier for you to see it than for us to try and explain it to you."

He nodded at them, unbothered by the probably unhelpful response. "Right this way," he said warmly, turning to show them to the patient rooms in the back... and Ed had to tell himself it didn't mean anything, when Roy's grip around his shoulders tightened again, guiding him an inch closer to his side, and he was equal parts terrified and comforted by it all.

What the fuck had happened to him? He was a grown man, lived through any number of nightmares, survived his own limbs being torn off and Rainart Fucking Mustang- how had he gotten so low that even when the sight of his face almost terrified him, he still needed Roy there with him to get him through this?

Roy's hand tightened on him again, and Ed looked down at the polished floor, continuing to limp on along beside him.

Wesham showed them to a smaller, private room, and Ed once again inched back, fighting the voice inside him whispering to turn heel and run- or, worse, cling to Roy, of all people, like a damn leech. It was small, safe, normal. More tools, perfectly cleaned and organized, a patient cot in the middle of the room; everything was fine...

He knew what happened to the Jews who went to the camp doctors.

He knew.

_No, Ed, you're fine. Ed, shut up. You're not there anymore. Amestris, home, home, home. You're FINE.  
_

The mechanic was talking to him. Saying something, something about automail, his arm-

_Have to prove that I'm fine. You can never let them see you're not, Ed... you can never let them see-_

People who went to the camp doctors never came back.

_Don't don't don't-_

" _Ed."_

He jumped.

All that clicked in his head was _danger._ He tried to pull back but there was nowhere for him to go, and instinct only drove him back a single stumbled step before he caught up with himself, remembering _no, Ed, no, you're not there anymore, you're fine, you're fine, you're fine._ Roy- it was _Roy,_ not Rainart- stood right in front of him, hands on his shoulders, and there was- nowhere to run-

"Edward," he said again, gripping him to keep him there, refusing to let him the freedom to even escape his gaze. "Edward, we're just seeing a mechanic. We can leave whenever you want to. It's okay."

_It's... no, it's not okay, it's... oh, god..._

His heart pounding so fast he felt nauseous and weak-limbed, suddenly on the verge of a collapse. Panic threatened to crush his chest and he jerked his hand off his crutch, painfully unlatching it finger by finger to wrap his thumb and forefinger into a circle. It wasn't strong enough to support a transmutation of real strength but the arrays ran through his mind anyway, every simplistic array he'd ever known and a hundred more forming on the spot just to feel the tingle of alchemy in his blood. Alchemy meant he was home. That energy rushing through his veins grounded him more than anything else. He was fine. _Fine!_ He was in Amestris, and that meant he was fine, and high time for him to just grow up and stop freaking out like a child-

And Rainart standing right there in front of him felt far too real for any transmutation to bring him comfort.

Roy looked at him steadily, one eye heavy with concern and the other hidden under an eyepatch that wasn't doing anything near enough to ground him. He just crouched there for a moment before him, hands on his shoulders, one-eyed stare piercing into him with all the concern in the world.

And then, calmly, without any hesitation whatsoever, Roy let him go to push his eyepatch aside.

"It's okay," he said again, softly, not touching him but also not moving away. "Just a mechanic, Ed."

He didn't actually say _you're safe here,_ but Ed still heard it, clear as day.

Roy, this time _undeniably_ Roy, watched him, evaluative and unsure. Ed couldn't stop himself from staring at the mess of scarring on the left side of his face, tracing each and every wrinkled, disfigured line that Rainart hadn't had- and with each second, he finally felt his heart began to ease. It really was okay. It was just a mechanic, and this really was just Roy. He was home, in Amestris, and safe.

He was safe here.

Roy didn't need him to reassure him that he was fine- thank god, because Ed doubted he was even capable of it, or words at all. The general withdrew on his own once he saw something in him that satisfied him, still standing by his side and not making any move to touch him, but even from down here Ed could see the scars, and somehow, that was reassuring enough to keep him steady as attention was put back on the mechanic.

Wesham was watching them with that same small, unassuming smile, not looking thrown or bothered at all; not even impatient as he stood there waiting for his lunatic of a patient to get control of himself. Ed wondered for a split second just how much Roy had passed on about him but quickly pulled himself away from such thoughts. Thinking about that was only going to make him feel worse, no matter what the answer was, and right now, he really just needed to focus on the present.

"...Sorry about that," he finally forced out. His voice came out rough and barely recognizable at all, and something in him cringed with the shame of it.

The mechanic just shrugged, smile never faltering. "It's not a problem. Many patients aren't comfortable with automail at first; I understand," he said easily, like that was all it was, then sat down on the cot himself as if nothing at all was wrong. He did cast Roy an uncertain glance, uncomfortable gaze lingering over the scars, but the general weathered the look without even a wince, and Wesham soon transferred his attention right back onto him. "Let's just talk first, all right? I'd like to go over our plans before we start."

Ed glanced hesitantly at Roy, then just shot his eyes and forced out another shuddering breath. He could do this. He _would_ get through this. "All r-right," he stammered hoarsely, and his voice may've only held study through sheer stubbornness, but he was proud of it all the same.

Wesham simply looked down at the folder in his hands as if nothing was amiss. "The general told me he removed your automail himself, but he couldn't get it all out. Something about it being broken before he took it out? Your right arm and left leg?"

He forced himself to nod, gaze dragged off of him again in a jumpy sort of nerves he couldn't control. Slowly, Ed stumbled in a backtrack to the wall; Roy followed, close enough to be unmistakeably clinging to him like a protective shadow, far enough away to not touch him. "I really wasn't too sure of what I was doing, detaching it," Roy said guardedly.

"I see." He made a quick notation, then glanced back up at him. "And, you only want me here to take out all the parts General Mustang couldn't get to, clean up the areas, that sort of thing- you don't want automail at all? You're not even considering it?"

This time, Ed didn't even have to hesitate before shaking his head no.

Was he able to even think of going home right now to face Winry?

Face her _alone?_

No.

But he also wasn't able to bear thinking of going to get automail from anyone else.

"Okay," the mechanic agreed easily, and made another small note on his folder. "What about a wooden prosthetic? How much do you know about those?"

He winced a little, shying away from the very idea. Wooden prosthetics existed; he'd seen them often enough, living with Pinako and Winry. They were a long way away from automail, though. From what he'd seen, they barely did anything other than make people _look_ a little more normal. Getting a more normal appearance and that was it. It was for people who couldn't afford automail... or, who didn't have the luck to have a good mechanic in the family.

Before he could speak up, though, Roy put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down a little to speak to him. "They've made a lot of advancements in the last seven years, Ed. It's not anywhere near like what you remember- it's actually pretty decent now. You should think about it."

Ed hesitated, glancing uncertainly over at the general. "...Advancements?" he murmured, and found himself looking down to the empty space where his leg was supposed to be, then over at the crutch in his hand, such a staple of his life now he'd almost forgotten what he looked like without it.

"Yes, advancements!" Wesham said, setting down the folder to give him his full attention. He didn't look as excited as Winry did, over every single new development in her field- but, then again, no one did. He recognized the bright, eager gleam in his eyes all the same, though, and found a weak, uncertain smile slowly starting to tug at his lips despite himself. "I'm not sure how you remember it, but it's really quite decent now. It'll help you a lot with balance, and while it's nothing compared to automail, you'd have some range of movement. You'd even be able to walk. The procedure's pretty simple, too; I could get it all done tonight, you could even do all the rehab exercises on your own, with General Mustang's help." He smiled again invitingly, then blinked and got to his feet, moving over to a nearby desk to lift up a glossy, wooden arm for him to examine. "Here, take a look for yourself."

Ed hesitantly accepted the limb, more because he didn't have any real choice with it thrust in his face like that- not because he really wanted to. He almost flinched when the cool material touched his skin, not ready for it, and definitely totally unsure how he felt about this besides unsettled. He barely noticed Roy moving his crutch away to free up his arm, too transfixed by the long prosthetic before him. It wasn't automail. It wasn't the intricate metal designs he was so used to... some nights in Dacahu, he laid awake in the dark, tracing over the rusted steel wiring, so familiar with Winry's work he could picture her face just touching her signature work. This was far from anything that familiar, or reassuring- just one long, smooth arm, painted to replicate skin tone with a joint in the elbow and another in the wrist. He flopped it about a little, watching the fingers move. It wasn't fluid, like he was used to; they were all awkward and stiff, creaking into a weak sort of fist with barely any grip at all.

It wasn't automail. But...

It wasn't bad, either.

It wasn't bad at all.

Ed hesitated, trying to picture it. He'd be able to walk again. He'd be able to do as something as simple as look in the mirror and see a normal person looking back. He'd...

Ed closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and remembered Roy telling him he needed to start trying to move on.

"I'll do it," he said quietly.

He didn't really have a name for the look Roy gave him then, but imagined the closest word he had for it would be pride.

* * *

Roy waited outside the exam room, pacing all the while.

Ed had asked he leave the room for the procedure. He hadn't explained why, but Roy could only imagine his face was not a comforting one to have near by, especially now, when he was going to be helpless and in pain. Roy couldn't say he was exactly thrilled, to be left alone out in the hallway, or to leave _Ed_ alone when he was like this- but he did understand it. He'd left without protest.

He'd been so relieved, relieved almost beyond words, when Ed had actually agreed to accept the prosthetics. He'd known all along it would be a wild long shot to expect him to accept automail from anyone but Winry Rockbell, but until now, hadn't dared to hold out hope he'd accept even this meager stand in. Things were going to be so much easier for him now, he reflected gratefully; he'd be able to walk on his own, he'd finally have two useable hands again...

There was, of course, the problem of the pain. While not automail, the mechanic had told Roy this would probably hurt Ed, a lot, and it was going to take him a few days to learn how to use these new prosthetics. Ed had already flat out refused any medication while they were here, but just because he wasn't drugged didn't mean he'd be capable of walking home. Roy, to be honest, didn't know _what_ he was going to do. He couldn't carry Ed himself, not all that way, he obviously couldn't drive him, and wasn't about to enlist anybody else into this situation- not with Ed still technically wanted for desertion. Neither, however, could he imagine Ed would be all that thrilled to just hide at the clinic until he was well enough to walk home...

Well, if it was what they had to do, it was what they had to do. Nothing about this situation was ideal; he'd known _that_ much from the beginning. If push came to shove, he'd just call in sick, deal with Hawkeye's worrying later, and stay with Ed here until he was well enough to make it home. End of story.

The fact that he couldn't even conceive of the idea of leaving him alone here, not when it was so obvious how nervous and frightened this had all made him in the first place, no matter how hard he'd tried to hide it...

No. He was not leaving Ed alone here, and if that meant calling in sick and worrying Hawkeye half to death again, that was just what he was going to do.

When Wesham finally returned to fetch him, it was horribly late, some time past three in the morning, and he woke up from a half-doze in a chair at the sound of footsteps. He shook his head blearily, struggling to try and clear his barely conscious thoughts out of mind at the sight of him. "What-?" he coughed, gravelly voice breaking, and tried again. "What happened? Is Ed okay?" He glanced over him worriedly, searching for any signs that something might have gone wrong, nerves twisting threateningly at the small spots of blood on his gloved hands- but the mechanic was smiling, and at that calm look in his eyes, he knew before he'd even said a word that Ed was okay.

"Totally fine, General." He looked just as tired as Roy felt, but his face was clear of anything troubling, and Roy hadn't known just how tense and worried he was until he felt some of that tension finally start to dissolve with exhausted with relief. "Both prosthetics are connected, and he's doing very well... better than I expected, actually. I've never had someone handle the connection so well before. Normally I'd want to watch him for a day or two, but I'd have no problem letting him go back home with you tonight. Just as long as you'll be able to stay with him to help him out."

Roy sighed in relief again. "Yes, well, he's pretty accustomed to procedures like this," was all he said, purposefully vague, and pushed himself to stand, still trying to really wake up. His heart pounded, still riding out the waves of anxiety he'd spent most of the night fighting off, and he ran a hand through his hair, struggling to stay in control of himself. "He's... okay, then?"

"Absolutely." Wesham started to lead him back to the exam room, easygoing enough for him to really put his worries to bed; the mechanic knew what he was doing, after all, and Ed had been through far, far worse than this. He'd be fine. Of course he would be. After the hells Ed had lived through, something like this should surely be nothing for him to handle, no matter how shaken and wounded he still was. He'd known that from the beginning, of course- but knowing it, and stopping himself from fearing the very worst, were two very different things, and Roy was just glad it was finally done.

Impatient, Roy had already stopped paying attention to the mechanic, and therefore ended up almost tripping over him as he tried to step inside and found his path blocked yet again, Wesham turning back to him just as he cracked the door. "He's probably pretty tired. He never let me give him anything for the pain, but still, getting through a surgery like this is no picnic. Don't be worried if he's asleep."

"Well... it is three in the morning. I'd be more worried if he wasn't asleep, honestly," he tried to quip, but, inwardly, he couldn't help but be relieved all over again. As much as he wanted to talk with Ed right now, to assure himself that everything really was okay, it'd be much better for the kid now if he could just get some much needed rest. If he actually was asleep, then all the better for him. Roy didn't need to talk to him to know that he was all right- he just needed to see him.

And those last words seemed to have finally been enough to get the mechanic to move aside, because his path was at last free, and Roy was able to move in and go to his side.

The alchemist was asleep after all, or at least not paying them any attention, his eyes closed and his head turned away from them. He looked just as tired and drained as he had before, but now, the tension and fear was eaten away by sheer exhaustion. His long hair, still a mess, hid most of his face, parts of it damp with sweat, the same cold, sticky sweat he could see along his face and neck and shoulders. His lower half was covered, but his upper half was not, revealing his bare torso to the room... still edging on too thin, and there, on his upper shoulders, he could just see the hint of scarring that he knew stretched all the way down his back.

Roy swallowed tightly, stomach squirming, and used every bit of will he had to stop himself from looking away.

Like Wesham had promised, two brand new limbs had been attached, and while it was not the strong automail he was used to, it was so much better than the empty, vulnerable lack of limbs before, and something aching and tight in his chest finally loosened. It still looked strange, the awkward wooden arm and leg, both lying completely stiff and straight, but-

It was better than before, and that was enough.

Roy started to reach a hand forward, then hesitated. His eyepatch itched on his face, suddenly impossible for him to ignore, and he found himself pulling his hand back to touch it, uncertainty pounding in his chest. Should he take it off? He knew Ed could cope with him looking like Rainart under normal circumstances, but the way he was right now... he'd had enough trouble with it _before_ the procedure as it was. Now? Now, surely as unsettled and uneasy as he'd been before, but now with the added factors of exhaustion and pain...

With a cold shake of his head, Roy banished all such thoughts away and just shoved the eyepatch off to the side for the second time that night and crouched down, kneeling to land on eye-to-eye level with him. "Ed?" he called quietly, not loud enough to actually wake him up if he was asleep. "Ed, are you okay?"

Ed's brow furrowed a little, the kid rolling slightly on the cot. "...yeah. Yeah," he mumbled sleepily, eyes still shut. The words were just focused enough for him to tell it wasn't just Ed murmuring in his sleep. "Yeah, I'm... fine..."

He wasn't fine. Roy wasn't stupid. His jaw was tight with pain, and the way he lay there, limp and boneless, wasn't just exhaustion. He even _breathed_ like he was wary of the hurt every single motion would bring. He had yet to even try to move either of the new limbs.

"Of course you're fine," he said quietly, and gently lowered a hand to rest on the top of Ed's head.

He waited several moments, watching Ed's restless half-doze. "Go back to sleep, okay?" He'd woken him up to assuage his own fears, momentary, passing, and selfish as they were; the best thing for him now was just to rest. "We'll see about taking you back to my place when you feel better."

Ed, however, stiffened, brow furrowing again. It was a tiny motion in his small, tortured form, so tiny Roy almost missed it entirely- but no, it was there, all right, a minuscule wave of discomfort from head to toe, and this time, it wasn't because of the pain. He slitted his eyes open, staring blearily up at him, then shook his head, pushing a shaking hand down at the cot to try and inch himself up. "But I don't want to stay here," he muttered, finally with a touch of clarity. He struggled weakly, fumbling to get out from under the blankets as he turned further towards Roy, his face tight and pinched with need. "I... I want to go home."

Roy blinked.

"...Home?" he asked quietly.

Ed nodded, and whether it was his exhaustion or his pain or just that he had the emotional sensitivity of a rock he remained oblivious, just pushing himself up to sit a little bit straighter on the cot. He looked down at his new limbs blearily, frowning at them and the sheets. "I don't want to stay here. I don't... like it here. Feels like a hospital, and I... just..." he trailed off blearily to shake his head, tired eyes almost unfocused in their exhaustion and the lonely, pained wish he could see growing in their wounded depths. "...can we go home now? Please?"

Roy stared again.

Then, hand still on his head, he said quietly, "Yes, we can," and his heart swelled.


	14. N is for Newcomer

Ed actually felt good.

For the very first time in _years_ , he actually felt good. Consistently so.

He almost would've called it a miracle, if he believed in such things.

Like automail, the prosthetics took some work to get used to. He couldn't just get out of bed and start walking around like everything was normal. There were exercises he had to do, stretches and little weights, and it was a constant struggle- always expecting the dexterity and strength of automail, never getting it.

But he felt so much better just with something there, two actual limbs, limbs that for the first time in _years_ he didn't have to hide. The promise of soon being able to walk without a crutch or lift things with both hands-

It sounded so impossible he really almost couldn't believe it, but the closer he got to that day, the more he realized this was actually happening. He really was getting better. Despite all the odds piled against him, despite how hard he was now seeing he'd fought it, despite how _many_ times he really should've died before now, it actually was happening, and as bewildered as he was by all of it, Ed knew he liked it.

They'd had the procedure done on a Friday, so Roy had been able to stay home to look after him; the Monday after it, he'd tried to as well, but Ed had shooed him back to work. He wasn't sure how much of the general's bellyaching was actual genuine worries and how much was just him being an overprotective moron, and also seriously doubted Hawkeye was _that_ concerned about him she'd come breaking in after a single sick day. However, he also knew he didn't need Roy with him there twenty four seven. He wasn't _that_ much of a damn invalid, no matter how pitiful he'd been acting lately- he knew having Roy staying with him in case he needed anything, like had been all this time, was eventually going to turn the general into another crutch for him. A crutch he didn't want to need anymore.

And, maybe more than that... was the point that if he had to spend yet _another_ twenty four hours alone with the bastard, he was going to brain him with his crutch.

Thus, his return to work.

"I'll try to come home a little early," the general said reluctantly, shrugging on his uniform jacket with such little focus he misbuttoned it twice. Ed swallowed a smirk and said nothing. "And if you have any trouble, walking or anything, please don't push it and just wait for me to get home so I can help? The wounds are still really new-"

"Yeah, uh, I think I'll manage," Ed cut in impatiently, rolling his eyes. "Kinda used to dealing with unnatural limbs by now, you know..."

"Well, yes, but I-" Coughing, Roy tugged out his collar to straighten it, clearly uneasy. "I'm only saying that _if_ something happens- and I'll try to call around noon, just to make sure everything's-"

"I am not going to _explode_ if you leave me alone for a single day, moron."

It was Roy's turn to glare, the stubborn general folding his arms and stopping in his retreat out the door. "Past evidence begs to differ. And regardless, I only want-"

"Roy. If you don't shush, turn around, and go back to your stupid office right now, I'm going to dent my brand new arm by whacking you with it."

Roy made a face. Ed glared. Roy flushed. Ed still glared. Roy coughed and started to speak again, one finger raised as if to punctuate whatever silly point he was going to try to make now.

Then, finally, Roy's irritated face dissolved into a sheepish one, and he lowered his hand, mouth slipping into a weak, still embarrassed grin. "Of course," he said quietly, finally corralled into line, and gave his uniform a final tug. "I'll just... see you tonight, then."

Ed just continued to glare, and kept on glaring and shooing until the general had finally gotten the message, and backed out of his home without another word. He somehow managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes and letting the glower dissolve into a grin once Roy was gone, but it was a near thing, and he found himself briefly considering disconnecting the phone lines, just for the panic attack he knew it would give the bastard when he tried to call and got no answer.

Yes, he finally, for the first time in such a long while, felt good... and messing with Roy was turning out to be the most enjoyment he'd gotten out of anything in three years.

Precisely at noon, there was a knock on the door.

Ed, previously working his way through a formerly undiscovered history book, collecting dust in the general's study, looked up from the couch to stare at it in disbelief.

Really? _Really?_

He sent a glance over at the clock just to make sure- and, yep, noon. Exactly the time Roy had promised he would call. Which Ed specifically remembered telling him was unnecessary. Also, call. Roy had explicitly said _call._ That he would _call_ him, and make sure everything was going okay.

Not fucking show up for a surprise inspection in the middle of the day.

Ed growled at the shut door, starting to get a little genuinely annoyed now. Okay, promising to call at noon had already been a bit much. He was recovering just like the mechanic had said he would, and it wasn't as if he didn't know what he was doing, healing with two not-yet-functional limbs- but he'd accepted it as the general being overprotective and left it alone. Not his favorite thing in the world, but that was one thing that sucked about being a double amputee- people insisted on giving him more help than he actually needed. He could accept a phone call or two. It was a lot less than the worst of the coddling people had tried to give him over the years, and he'd learned that, as much as he hated it, there were somethings he really did just have to bite his tongue about and learn to tolerate.

He could _not_ tolerate Roy showing up in the ass middle of the day for no fucking reason.

Ed glared at the door when a knock came again, considering his options. It took him only a moment to decide to just ignore him. Serve him right; let him stress himself to death out there, imagining all sorts of ridiculous worst case scenarios when Ed had _told him_ he would be fine. It was really the only say way to handle this, anyway. On the rare chance that it wasn't Roy, he really shouldn't be opening the door to be seen by anyone. Plus, Roy had his keys. Why was he knocking on the door?

He hesitated, glower fading away into a genuine, uncertain frown.

Why _was_ he knocking on the door?

At the third knock, Ed's irritation faded entirely, and a nervous suspicion crawled straight up to replace it.

Roy had a key, and knew walking was still hard for him- if he was coming to make sure he hadn't gotten hurt or whatever, why would he be knocking, making him get up to answer the door? And not even announcing himself, when he knew that Ed had every reason to hide himself from strangers?

He wouldn't have.

He wouldn't have... and that meant...

Another beat of anxious suspicion trembled through him, and his glare from before utterly dissolved as he tried not to panic.

It wasn't Roy.

Ed found himself hobbling to his feet, wrenching himself upright just be up and moving around because his nerves could not take sitting still. Any easy anger from before was now completely gone, and he missed it, because being annoyed at Roy was _infinitely_ preferable to _this_. He started to clap his hands together, again just an instinct, and almost breathlessly relieved to _finally_ be able to do it again, then jerked back hard when he remembered he could no longer make his arm into a blade. Wood wasn't metal. Metal was malleable and he could make it change for him; wood wasn't, wood would just crack and splinter and become useless- useless like _he_ was, pathetically unarmed and defenseless and _completely_ vulnerable and fucking helpless. Shit. _Shit_ , he didn't like this. This- was _really_ not good-

"Okay," he muttered aloud, shaking his head vigorously at himself. "Okay, stay calm. Could just be a neighbor. Just a random neighbor, who... who just... wants to borrow some- some sugar. People do that in the city, right? Yeah. Borrow some sugar. From Mr. Can't Cook, Isn't Home All Day. Yeah." He shook his head again, trying frantically to squish the frantic nerves battling inside him. He was overreacting. There was no reason it had to be the military. There was no reason to even suspect it was the military, somehow found out Roy had been hiding him and here to arrest him- no reason besides his own paranoia. It was just him being stupid, stupid as usual; used to the fucking Gestapo and all their shit- but it had been months since he'd escaped there, and it was _really fucking high time_ for him to just get his shit together already and quit freaking out like a baby. This was pathetic. It was stupid; embarrassing. He was a paranoid lunatic, losing his mind over a fucking knock at the door.

A tiny, nervous laugh burst out of him when he realized the truth in those words again. He reached up to cover his face, shaking, shaking badly, then slipped his hand to hide his mouth and the panicked thing he called a smile instead. God, he was a wreck. A _fucking wreck._ No wonder Roy hadn't wanted to leave him home alone, when _this_ was the kind of mess he dissolved into when- when-

No. _Just shut up, Ed._ He didn't even need to be freaking out. Just sit here quietly, wait for the stranger to go away, then casually mention it to Roy when he came home. That was all he had to do, and he was going to fucking do it, because he wasn't a child and it had been long enough, now. Long enough for him to heal and quit fucking reacting like this. This wasn't _Germany_ , the Gestapo really wasn't about to kick down his door-

And with an earsplitting smash, that was exactly what happened.

Roy's heavy oak door, previously just sitting there calmly like doors were meant to do, blew _straight off the hinges_ , hurled straight past him, and crashed straight into the floor.

Ed was too stunned to do anything but gape.

"Well, well. I think I went a little overboard! My mistake, dear, let me fix it... would you mind starting the tea?"

"Oh, of course not, dear."

And, as boldly as if they owned the place, Izumi and Sig Curtis walked into the general's home.

* * *

When Roy walked into his home at the end of the day, the sight that was waiting for him was enough to strike him dumb and mute, and leave him standing there in the still open doorway, completely and utterly at a loss for words.

He'd expected Ed lounging on his couch, nose still buried in a book, taking it easy and getting used to having all four limbs again. Or, at least, hoping for it. And, to be fair, that _was_ what he got.

It just wasn't all that he got.

Ed sat there on his couch, splayed out with his brand new limbs akimbo. He looked like he was having a contest about trying to take up as absolutely much space as possible, and he was most certainly winning, and somehow managing to do so _and_ still drink from a cup of tea at the same time. He looked patently ridiculous.

And next to him, stretched out just as ridiculously- her feet were kicked up on his table; her _feet_ , on _his_ table!- and sipping from another cup- _his_ cup!- of tea, pinky in the air, was Izumi Curtis.

Of extraordinarily high consequence was also her husband, sitting just as calmly in the nearby armchair. He looked extremely unperturbed, like being found in the middle of a breaking and entering was par for course for him. Roy seriously feared for the integrity of his chair.

"Ah..." he murmured, staring in utter disbelief. The collection of folders tucked under his arm almost escaped from numb, limp fingers. "Hello?"

Izumi silently held up a hand to him, wordlessly ordering him to stay quiet, and took another long sip of tea. Roy couldn't be sure, but he was almost one hundred percent positive he caught a quiet, muffled snicker from Ed.

"...Did I just- forget, inviting you two into my home, or-?"

Izumi didn't so much as look at him. Ed, however, was now just hiding his face behind his cup, and Roy no longer had any doubt that he was trying to disguise his smirk.

"So... I suppose it's a little too late to ask you two to make yourselves at home," he deadpanned. He was rather sure he was just still too surprised to react appropriately. Whatever the appropriate reaction _was_ to coming home and finding it broken into- broken into by people _far_ from his biggest fans, to say the least. "I apologize; I would've been a more polite host, perhaps made the tea myself, but I'm afraid that I wasn't made aware of the home invasion well enough in advance to prepare."

Oh, yes. Ed was most certainly laughing at him.

Izumi continued to pay him no mind, just casually sipping at her tea. Her husband hadn't so much as looked at him, either. And, while Ed still was doing a bang up job at pretending to ignore him, Roy could actually hear him snickering now.

At last, Izumi leaned forward to set her now empty cup down with a satisfied sigh. She wiped her hands off on her dress, features turning into a very small, calm smile. "More tea, dear?" she said, _still_ having the gall to leave Roy just standing, completely unacknowledged, in the doorway, and he scowled.

Maybe now he was seeing where Ed got his atrocious manners from.

Her husband nodded as he stood- the poor armchair creaking a little in miserable protest. Roy couldn't help but wince. "Of course," he rumbled, collecting his wife's empty cup, and, not even looking at him, walked away back to the kitchen like it was his own.

"...So, am I supposed to know why I'm now being given the silent treatment, or-"

Izumi calmly turned around to face him at last. She looked utterly relaxed save her dark eyes, both glinting with a quiet, _evil_ light, neatly brought her palms together, and then pressed them to the floor.

Next moment, and Roy found himself toppled backwards, head over heels, to crash back against his wall, and landed hard on his floor in a spreadeagled mess. He heard Ed snicker again, and for a moment, all Roy could even see was the splintered mess of the floorboards he'd been standing on, and Izumi's feet, as the deadly, deadly woman slowly walked up to him, one step at a time.

"Mistake number one," she said, in a voice that was nearly thunderous with warning. "Thinking you could get away with calling me about the Elric brothers, and not expecting an in home visit afterwards." She paced the remaining distance between them like a predatory cat approaching a pinned mouse until she stood directly in front of him, and radiating such sever _anger_ he suddenly found himself flinching back from an expected boot to the skull. "Mistake number two. Thinking you could hide something about my boys from me."

And at last, Izumi dropped straight down to land on her knees right before his face, and peered down at him with such danger he could not help but gulp.

"And mistake number three, dog of the military: knowing that Ed was home, and not thinking that was something that you should tell me. Understand?"

Roy, still collapsed on his floor, and now most definitely pinned, found himself helpless to do anything but take a slow, steadying breath, and tilt his head into a stunned nod.

Izumi beamed.

"Good!" she proclaimed, sticking a hand out to help him up. "And now that that's settled- tea?"

Five minutes later, Roy was sitting down on his couch, very uncomfortably sipping on a cup of his own tea, Ed by his side, and Izumi on the other side of him. Roy had somehow survived without enduring a beating, which, when he'd walked inside to find Izumi waiting for him, had been a very real possibility, but he knew he was still on very thin ice with these people, and wasn't about to risk provoking one after all. Ed, meanwhile, was still very busy snickering quietly, and Roy sent him a glare out of the corner of his eye, cupping both hands around his cup. He barely even liked tea. "A heads up would've been nice, brat."

Ed gave him a half-grin, still looking unreasonably proud of himself. "I know. But, come on... you've got to admit, that was pretty fun."

"For _you._ I thought I was going to get killed!"

Izumi smirked. "That's quite a far assessment. I'm glad I'm not being underestimated."

"Underesti..." Glaring, Roy shook his head and slumped back into the corner of the couch, feeling rather put out by this whole affair. "Can we speak for a moment about how you broke into my house? Somehow that got glossed over! Did I say something on the phone that extended an invitation I was unaware of? An invitation to drink my whole pantry?"

"Your tea was horrendous, by the way," Izumi pointed out- even while having the gall to _once again_ take another sip. "I wasn't going to say anything, but since you brought it up-"

"Horrendous?! And yet that didn't stop you from drinking six cups!" He set his back down with as loud a clatter as he could, then folded his arms with a disgruntled huff. "Social niceties dictate that I bite my tongue, and thank you for coming by to visit no matter the distinct lack of invitation. However, you are quickly trying my patience."

Izumi leaned forward to frown at him past Ed, mouth pulling into a severe glower again. "And you kept the news that Ed was alive from me. For _months."_

Roy sighed. He felt some of the annoyance loosen out of him, fading from tight, tense muscles, and the dark glare he'd adopted fading as well as he lowered his gaze to his lap, a reluctant sort of understanding overtaking him.

For all that she irritated him, and for all that the Curtises did not like him- they did honestly care about Ed.

"Not out of spite," he told her quietly. "Not out of any reason you seem to think of."

She watched him for several long seconds, just staring at him, and Roy was beginning to realize just where Ed's- admittedly rarely exercised ability- to stare in silence and reveal nothing had been learned from. The woman just looked at him, and all he could see in that stare was that he was _very_ not well liked, but the military spent four years glaring at cadets in the Acadmey to make them grow a spine and Roy was not about to cave in to something like that, so he just glared right back.

Surprisingly, however, Izumi seemed almost pleased when greeted with unyielding stubbornness, and after only a moment more of it, let her face dissolve into a sharp grin; again, one that was so reminiscent of Ed. "Sig?" she called, breaking his gaze and rising to her feet, hands on her hips. "Let's go start dinner, hmm?"

Ray gaped again, staring as the terrifying couple both rose and once again to proceed back to his kitchen. He stuttered an unformed sort of protest, eye wide as the two left, then swiveled back to stare at Ed in amazement. "Did they just- once again- are they _really_ just going to-... _what?"_

Ed smirked. He'd been smirking this whole time. Roy was half-waiting for his face to freeze like that. "She's just trying to give us a chance to talk alone. Be grateful. Making dinner is her way of apologizing. At least, to you... if you guys were actually friends she'd just beat you up." He shrugged, curling his flesh leg more tightly underneath him. "Believe it or not, that's how she shows affection."

Given how many times Roy had seen the Elric brothers spar, spar so brutally just about anyone else would've gotten killed, or at least earned a hospital visit- and yet they'd just get up and laugh together afterwards, he didn't find it hard to believe at all.

Ed shifted after a moment, lowering his gaze to his lap. "...Is this okay, though?" he mumbled, new, wooden hand flexing weakly against the cushions. The motion still looked awkward, his control weak and not yet fully formed, the finely oiled joints opening and closing in a fist that Ed suddenly watched with far more interest than him. "I mean, I know it's your house, and Teacher can be a bit... Teacher. ...I really didn't call or invite her, she just showed-"

"Ed, it's okay." He smiled slightly, trying to assuage the uncertain shadow of insecurity about him that he never would've seen before Germany. "If you're all right with it, if you want her to be here, then so do I." He hesitated, listening to the unbelievable metallic ruckus back in his kitchen. "They're, uh... not here to _stay_... are they?"

The kid snickered again, dragging a hand through his messy hair, though a lingering hint of uncertainty remained about him. "Teacher hates big cities. Once she sees I'm really all right, she probably be looking at train tickets back to Dublith. It just may take a week or two." He shrugged, still aimlessly playing with his wooden hand. "They actually came here to talk to you- they had no idea they'd find me. She... she said you'd... called them about me."

This time, it was Roy's turn to pause.

Right. That phone call.

That phone call, that he had brushed out of his mind the moment he'd hung up the phone.

Which had evidently been a very stupid mistake.

"...I was at my wit's end," he admitted quietly. He looked away as well, reluctant to think about how miserable things had been just a week ago. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I don't think I mind that much, actually," Ed muttered back, still avoiding looking at him. "To be fair, I never said you _couldn't_ tell her."

Roy frowned. This was another thing that Ed, pre-Germany, never would've done- and that he didn't like to see Ed do now. He didn't have to try and give excuses for people who'd wronged him. He _shouldn't_ try and do that. "And to be fair," he returned steadily, "I think it's pretty clear you didn't want me telling anyone."

To his surprise, and something close to disappointment, however, Ed continued to give hime leeway, the alchemist just waving a hand to brush the words off and going on like it didn't even matter. "The military can't know, obviously, and I... I really don't want you telling Winry." He hesitated, still keeping his eyes averted like his life depended on it. "But now that I actually think about it, I... I think I'm okay if others know. ...I guess it'd be nice, to start seeing some other people."

Roy swallowed back another sigh. He'd been expecting anger, mistrust, at the very least an argument. Honestly, would've deserved it. He _had_ called Izumi without Ed's permission, after all, and even though he'd backed out at the last second, had still dialed her number with every intention of telling her everything. Ed would've had every right to be angry with him now- but he wasn't. And as much as he worried this was Ed's continuing, new bad habit of trying not to make anything harder for him, like he was trying to make up for how he'd been when he'd first gotten here, Roy was not ruin things now by pushing it. There was a time for such things, and now was it.

"I see," he was all he said back at last, and, somehow, he even managed a weak grin. "I suppose it's just our luck that pretty much everyone I know is military anyway, then."

Ed smirked reluctantly. "Right." He fidgeted some more with his shirt, not seeming too put out with the fact that there wasn't about to be a stream of visitors all eager to see him. The ruckus in the kitchen continued, just a straight, unceasing clatter of _noise._ "I... told her about Al," he went on softly, voice dwindling to become small. "I told her about everything. All- _almost_ everything. I... left out Rainart. J-just- Teacher already doesn't like you; if she knew about that- I'm not saying you're Rainart, because you're _not,_ but if she found out you were anything like him-"

"Ed. _Ed,"_ he interrupted, raising a hand to stop the nervous tirade before it got any more off the tracks. He didn't like how easily Ed got nervous, nowadays; like he was still unsure of his place here, almost desperate to not make another mistake and find himself thrown out even though Roy had told him, in no uncertain terms, that was never going to happen. "Ed, listen, it's fine. That's your story to tell- or not. It's your choice, and certainly not my business." He sighed again, watching Ed until he was sure the kid understood that he really wasn't about to protest or be angry. He imagined Ed hadn't told Izumi the whole story just because he hadn't wanted to go _through_ it again- telling that whole terrible story once more, reliving it all again... but the fact that trying to save him from Izumi's wrath had even factored into his thinking at all was rather touching.

Not to mention a frightening and accurate premonition.

After all, Izumi merely didn't like him on principle, now, as a dog of the military, and for giving Ed the chance to become the same. But if she found out the monster who his German counterpart was, and exactly _who_ was responsible for Al's death, he had no doubt Amestris' deadliest housewife would plant herself in his life and not allow herself to be removed until Edward was as far away from him as he could possibly get.

Roy still wasn't entirely convinced that _wouldn't_ be in Ed's best interest, but as long as Ed still _wanted_ to stay here with him, he wasn't going to let anyone, well-meaning, protective, practically adoptive mothers or not, take him away.

He sat for several moments longer, alternately listening to the ongoing mess the Curtises were making and watching Ed, who didn't seem to know what to do with himself. The alchemist seemed rather uncomfortable, and it took him a few seconds to make a good attempt at gauging why- but when he did, Roy knew what had to be done.

"Well," he announced steadily. He gave his uniform a sharp tug, trying to straighten it, then just pushed himself up to his feet, leaving a hand down on Ed's shoulder. "I think I'm going to head out."

Ed stiffened, head lifting to stare up at him in wide-eyed surprise. "Wha-?"

"Yes." He pushed his sleeve back to eye his watch, then nodded; only a little after six, good. "My men will still be at their usual bar. I think I'm going to show up uninvited and give them a heart attack, reminding them I still understand how to be social." He glanced back over his shoulder to his kitchen, then down at Ed, searching his eyes to make sure he understood. "I'll be out for a while... no need for you to wait up or save dinner for me."

Ed needed to talk to Izumi, and alone. Roy had had him here alone for well over a month, by this point- he'd have plenty of time to talk to him about this later. Right now, the best thing he could do for him was let him take tonight, at least, to talk and be with someone other than him. As serendipitous as Izumi's appearance was, Roy knew it would be good for him to finally be able to just talk with someone else.

He waited until the confusion in Ed's stare had finally softened into a quiet gratitude to stand back, tugging on his coat. "I'll talk with you later tonight, or tomorrow, then," he said, as close to a goodbye as anything else, offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then averted his eye toward the kitchen and called out a barely cordial goodbye. Izumi, he doubted, would be all too heartbroken to see him go.

He had no idea what he'd be returning to, Roy reflected as he stepped outside into the brisk night air, but was at least reasonably sure that this was the most good Ed was going to be able to have in a long, long time.

* * *

Izumi let Ed sit in silence for a long, long while.

When words did finally come, they were also not the ones he had expected.

This was, to a degree, comforting, because the ones he'd been expecting weren't things he wanted to hear, and the explanations he knew she deserved weren't things he wanted to say.

"You drink?" was all she put forth, tilting a small silver flask in his direction without even looking at him. She tilted it again, the moonlight flashing off the cap, then tilted it the other way, adding a shot to her cup.

Ed paused. "Sure," he said at last, holding his own out for her to spike. He hadn't, really, not in a very long time- but this felt like the sort of conversation he could use a little something to relax him for. He watched wordlessly as his old alchemy teacher added a shot to his drink as well, then brought it to his lips and swallowed back a mouthful. A grimace turned his lips down, an involuntary shudder running down his back. Whiskey. "Thanks," he grunted, still not looking at her.

Izumi returned the thanks with a wordless sound of affirmation, then nudged at him again, flask now put away. "You smoke?" she asked next, though was not actually offering him a cigarette this time.

Ed shuddered again, though this time the whiskey wasn't at fault. "I'll pass on that one." He'd never given cigarettes a try, but Hohenheim had taken up the habit in Germany, and so hadany number of Nazi soldiers- Rainart included. It may have been the memories associated with the damn things, it could have been just that the smell was revolting... but _no, thank you._ "I'm sort of surprised you smoke at all, to be honest."

To his surprise, however, Izumi laughed, folding her arms as she leaned heavily back against the brick porch steps. "Oh, I don't. That was a test. Drinking's an acceptable adult pastime- but smoking, now; smoking's reserved for morons who think inhaling a bonfire is a smart thing to do. If you smoked, I'd have to yell at you."

Ed sighed, feeling himself relax just a little bit more. He didn't really have words to put to it, but the way Izumi was talking to him... like he _wasn't_ fragile, like his brother _wasn't_ gone, like he didn't need to be coddled and was just... just _normal..._ god, he didn't have the words describe how much better that made him feel, or to give her a sincere enough thank you for it. "Pretty sure Mustang smokes sometimes," was all he said, an unbothered murmur, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Havoc definitely did, if sometimes was defined as thrice daily.

"Case in point."

He rolled his eyes again, not bothering to argue with her on that one as he took another drink of his wonderfully spiked tea. His enlistment in as a state alchemist had not at all improved her opinion on dogs of military- rather, she'd simply judged him as the exception.

Although, he realized quietly, giving her a look out of the corner of his eye... her relationship with Mustang _had_ to have improved at least a little, over the years, for her to have shown up at his home like this, uninvited or not.

And the only reason for Izumi and Mustang to ever have spoken, in these past five years, would've been him and Al.

Ed swallowed tightly. Some of his very pathetic, lingering good mood retreated a little more.

"...You know," he mumbled, lowering his gaze back down to the porch steps, "the general, he... really was doing what I asked. Not telling you that I was back, I mean. It wasn't because he wanted to leave you out of it." He found himself suddenly inordinately interested his feet. How was he supposed to look at her and say he'd trusted his ex superior over her? After everything she'd done for him-

His quietly growing nerves, however, were put to bed just as quickly as they'd been planted. "I know, Ed. I may not like him, but... I know."

He returned his attention to the spiked tea, focusing on the lingering burn of alcohol in his throat. This night was a whole mix of once familiar sensations long forgotten; the whiskey was only one of them. Being outside and just being able to enjoy it, not shivering in the brutal wind or blistering in the dammed sun. Izumi in the first place, just sitting up late and talking to her; something he hadn't done in well over ten years, back when he'd just been a stupid kid with no idea what he was poking into.

The quiet sense of tired unease, however, _wasn't_ anything strange to him, but he was starting to wish that it would be.

He was tired of always feeling like this.

"...It's been a while since I've been outside like this," he mumbled at last, still looking down at the ground. He bit his lip, lifting his gaze up just enough to wander over Roy's backyard. Probably just a staple of having such a uselessly nice house; aside from paying someone to take care of it once a week, he wasn't sure he'd ever see the general even use it. "Thanks."

"Yeah, I know. That's why we're out here." Izumi glanced at him, clearly curious but not going to ask. "You're way too pale. What's Mustang been doing, locking you in the basement?"

He snorted in surprise into his tea, clutching it tightly with both hands now. God, it felt good to have two hands again. "I'm hiding from the military. And yes, I get the irony that I'm hiding from the military _with_ one of their highest ranking officers. Pretty sure if he hasn't turned me in already, he's not going to now, Teacher."

Then, after several moments, he just gulped in another mouthful of half whiskey and clenched his teeth, forcing the stiff drink down his throat. It tasted repulsive, but, then, the point of drinking had never been that the stuff had tasted great. At least, not for him. "Haven't had anything to drink in a while, either," he announced, raising the cup in a parodying attempt of a toast. "Not since... four years ago? Five? Al's birthday." He shook his head, feeling his mouth contort into a bitter smile before the quake of pain in his heart. "It was his first birthday in Germany. We went all out- he kept begging me not to, but I spent at least six months' salary buying him anything I could think he ever might like. It was the first time I'd gotten to celebrate his birthday with him since he'd lost his body... we, um... we tried the first time, with the armor, but... it just didn't feel right." He swallowed tightly, forcing himself to remember only back to that wild night in Germany, and not all the lonely years beforehand. Or the lonely months after it.

"I'm still not sure how much fun he had," he confessed, still with a weak grin. "He was turning fourteen, and stuck celebrating with a bunch of people way older than him- it was me, all the scientists down at the factory, I think Hughes spent all night drinking his own self under the table... I'm pretty sure Al ended up having to play mother hen to us all night. It was an accident, we really didn't mean to get so drunk or have him look after us, but... he swore that he didn't mind. That he actually _had_ had fun." He paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His smiled softened fondly. "Weird part is, I think he actually did."

Izumi grinned a little. "That kid is more responsible than must adults I know. It creeped me out a little at first, to see a ten year old that put together... and then, there was you. Just- just precocious. Precocious enough to get yourself killed, and into every bit of trouble the world had to offer." She glanced down at him with another slight smile, shaking her head.

Ed sighed. "Al was every bit as smart as me, at _least._ I still think he was even smarter. He just hid it all beneath this layer of- of being the fucking nicest guy in the room, and the most considerate, and empathetic, and none of it was a lie; he was the sweetest damn person in the world. People just... underestimate him a lot because of it." He stopped, chewing on his lip when his stomach abruptly just _dropped._

"Or... they did, I guess."

Izumi's own smile faded.

Ed sighed again.

It was strange, to feel like this. At first, it had been a twisting pain in his chest, a sharp stab straight through his damn heart whenever it hit him again that Al was dead. Like being sucker punched in the stomach every other minute, which was ridiculous; how could he _forget_ something that impossible like that, how could it just keep hitting him over and over like that...? And then, he'd stopped forgetting it, and felt even worse for it. Just a constant weight crushing him from the inside out, every single second of every day, to the point that he wanted to scream but no longer had the air.

It had taken a long while to fade into this.

This ever present ache inside him. Not anguishing enough to kill him anymore, not tortuous enough to drive him mad- but not something that ever went away, either.

Just something always there. A hurt that he was beginning to realize was always going to be there, was never going to go away, and would instead follow him for the rest of his life. It wasn't going to get better.

He was just meant to learn to live with it.

Izumi drained the rest of her drink in silence, setting it down on the steps with an empty sort of clatter. She rested her hands on her knees, still looking out into the darkened yard, then kicked out a leg with a sigh. "What are you going to do now, then?" she asked quietly, and in one of the rarest mercies he'd seen from her, did not continue with their last line of conversation. "You can't hide here forever, Ed."

He bowed his head, letting the wind mess his hair over his eyes, cold and harsh against the back of his neck. It was so hard to look at her. He'd never been able to put a finger on it, why it was so hard to look anyone in the eyes anymore, but it was and he found himself having to sit there and remind himself, over and over, that this was fine, and he didn't have to feel this way with her. "I know that," he managed at last, then swallowed and made himself repeat it again, this time, his voice stronger. "I know. And... I honestly don't know, Teacher. I know that I should, because I've had a long time to think about it and I really should, but... I just don't."

"You should know," Izumi returned calmly, but without judgment. A statement of fact, not a rebuke. "You're putting off deciding. That's not going to get you anywhere good, Ed."

He sighed again, finishing off the rest of his tea and whiskey then setting it down as well, listening to the china clink loudly against the ground. Yeah. Yeah, he knew that. He'd... known it for a while. "Well," he started reluctantly, forcing himself to just open his mouth and talk, talk even without any real idea what to say. "I'm going to need to go to the military at some point, obviously. I'm presumed dead right now, but because I still had a military contract when that happened, I've got to go to them, and have some kind of excuse for why I haven't reported for duty in seven years."

"I'm guessing you're not going to tell them the truth."

Ed shook his head with a dark glare back down into his empty cup. "The military in Germany lost their minds over trying to use the Gate as a weapon. The one over here is a bit more understanding about alchemy, but given their track record, I'm sure as hell not going to risk it."

Izumi nodded again, this time with a hint of approval, and he sighed, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders loosen a little. "Whatever I tell them," he went on dully, "I'm not that worried about it. Mustang's on my side, and there's not really anything more I can ask for in this case besides a general ready and willing to help me out. I think I'll be okay."

"You know, if things don't turn out that way..."

"Yeah," he chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I know. You'll be about third in line for the people waiting to break me out of jail. Which won't be necessary anyway, because I'll have broken myself out first regardless." He wondered for a moment what Roy's opinion on that matter might be, then just cast it aside. Roy, by necessity, had to follow military rules and regulation. He didn't. He believed that the general would do whatever he could to help him- but if the military's judgment came out against him, his hands would be tied.

Just like Ed's wouldn't be.

"So... assuming things do turn out well for you, then," Izumi went on quietly, still watching him, and Ed shook himself, turning his focus forcibly away from the worst case scenario. "What then?"

He shrugged idly, keeping his eyes on the ground. This was really what she'd been asking about, not just the eventual legal proceedings with the military- what his plans actually were for his life now.

The problem was, he didn't have any.

"...I don't have an answer for you here, either," he sighed at last. He still kept his gaze down, feeling just a bit too low down and pathetic to so much as meet her eyes. "All I really know is that I'll quit. I refuse to be a dog of the military any longer."

"That's my boy, Ed. _That's_ my boy."

He smirked as Izumi clapped him warmly on the shoulder, allowing her to ruffle his messy hair even further past the point of ruin. "That's all I had to do to earn your approval back? Just quit?" he laughed hollowly, rolling his eyes again. "Well, you finally get your wish, regardless- I'm quitting. And if they force me to stay, then I'll just leave the country. I'm not fucking staying and I will _never_ fucking fight in a god dammed war again." He clenched his jaw again, fingers digging into his leg. "I don't know... go to Creta, I guess. Creta's like France... sophisticated as shit, and weird fancy food shit, so I'm sure they'll hate me over there, but... anything's better than staying in the military."

He meant that, too. The chances may have been slim, but if the military really did try and make him finish out the rest of his contract and gave him no choice in the matter, he'd defect and just leave the country. It was as simple as that. He'd had enough of war. He'd had enough of running and hiding from the military. He'd had enough of jails and prisoners and torture. He wasn't going to spend another minute of his life desperately trying to hide from the police, because if the military tried to draft him into another conflict, another war-

No.

He was just done with that life.

He was _done._

Once again, Ed had to wonder how unhappy Roy would be with him, if he heard that worst case scenario plan. This time, he couldn't even hazard a guess at the general's reaction. They'd both been through horrible wars, if on opposite sides- Roy's response, however, had been to buckle down into the military, to try and see to it that no wars and orders like that were ever seen again.

And, his...

His was going to be to run away.

Run away like a coward.

"Al..." he murmured slowly, voice thick in his throat. "Al probably wouldn't... like that very much, would he?" He glanced hesitantly at Izumi, meeting her eyes in the darkness. "He'd kill me for leaving Winry like that. Leaving... everything and every _one_ like that. But... but if the military tried to force me to stay, I..." He shuddered violently. "I can't go through another war, Teacher. I _can't."_

Izumi sighed sadly, her expression unreadable. But not disappointed, the way he'd imagined it might be. "One thing you never really seemed to get, Ed," she told him quietly, holding his gaze in a way that made it impossible for him to look away, "is that, at some point? You have to care about yourself enough to realize your own wants and needs aren't just inconveniences. What you feel is important. What you feel actually matters." She lifted a hand to poke him once in the chest, hard. "If leaving is something you think that you need, then you should do it. It's not selfish." She sighed again, looking back out towards the looming shadows in the yard. "You never did understand that. Even as a snot-nosed little brat, you just saw your own needs as utterly immaterial- simply an inconvenience you had to satisfy so you wouldn't let anyone else down. I didn't worry so much about you back then... though perhaps I should've. I knew, no matter how badly you took care of yourself, Al would be there to force you to stop and take care of you whenever you needed it. Just like you took care of him."

"That..." He shook his head, suddenly uncomfortable with the way this discussion had gone. "That was different. I had his body to get back- of course I had to focus on-"

"This started long before you tried to transmute your mother and you know it. It may've gotten worse after that, but even before that you valued your friends more than you valued yourself. And sometimes that's not such a bad thing, but- but, damn it, kid, when you've carried it as far as you have... well, I don't know _what_ it is, but it's damn sure not a good thing. Al would not be _disappointed_ in you for doing something that you need to do, and he wouldn't want you to suffer just because you think it's what your friends need."

Yeah, Ed thought, he definitely didn't like where this conversation had headed.

"...Whatever," he muttered noncommittally, slumping back over onto himself. As troubling as it was, he didn't want to think about that future at all. It was unlikely as hell anyway, and there wasn't any point in sticking himself in dealing with the worst possible scenario when there was so little chance of it coming to pass. He didn't want to think about the possibility of leaving- hell, he didn't want to think about Winry at all. Winry. Another thing he was failing, letting down. Another thing that if Al could see him now, the way he was just so casually ignoring her and letting her think he was dead, he'd just- be so fucking _disappointed-_

Yeah. He couldn't bear to think about that.

"...Enough about me," he sighed at last, rubbing a shaking hand over his face. "Doesn't matter." And it _didn't._ He didn't have to deal with it now, Roy was letting him hide in his house for as long as he needed, so that meant it just didn't fucking matter. "You- what about you? Yeah- I'm sure you're doing something more interesting than hiding in a basement. Right? Tell me about that." He shrugged harshly, trying to affix his mind to the new topic with glue. "Al told me you taught him alchemy again. What about after he left? You adopt any new students?"

Izumi was quiet for several seconds, clearly evaluating him and whether or not she should let it drop that easily. Ed kept his gaze on his knees, trying to put off some sort of air to beg her to just leave it alone. He couldn't talk about this anymore.

Thank god, she _did_ just let it drop, not pushing him any longer in a gesture that nearly forced out a sigh of relief. "No, actually," she said softly, and with more than a hint of bitterness. "I agreed to teach Al a second time only because I worried what would happen to him with any other teacher. After I found out about your mother, I'd already decided not to take on any students again."

Oh. Great. Because this conversation was apparently going to make him feel even fucking worse.

"That really wasn't your fault, Teacher-"

"No, it wasn't," she agreed easily, cutting him off just like that. "But I could've stopped you, if I'd actually faced reality and sat you both down and given you the truth, while you were still my students. I was too afraid to do so. I told myself there was no chance two boys of your age could actually have the ambition and ability to manage it but in reality, I just didn't want to think about my own mistakes so I didn't face it, even though I knew I should've." She gave a tired shrug, cracking her knuckles with an almost business like air that made him flinch. "I could've helped you. I didn't. And I didn't want to go through that with any other students again."

Ed pushed back his own old guilt, forcing his head into an understanding nod. It didn't help him to feel any better about it at all.

He supposed she did have a point, though. It wasn't her fault, not in any way- but she could've stopped them all the same. Izumi was probably the only person in the world who could've stopped them from making that mistake. He couldn't imagine her opening herself up to go through that again.

"...All the same, thanks for taking my brother back again anyway." He coughed uneasily, struggling to find the words. He'd never thought he'd have the chance to thank her for this, but now that he did he couldn't help but feel guilty for it. "You didn't have to."

To his surprise, Izumi just gave him a sharp, easy grin, eyes flashing. "No one who took care of Al- or you- ever _had_ to do it. It's not a question of obligation; I did it because I wanted to, end of story." She paused, cracking her knuckles again. "Truthfully, I took him back because I was worried he was going to try human transmutation again- but for you, not Trisha. That was the only reason. I wasn't going to let him do it again; I'd have cut off his own hands before I let him make that mistake again," she swore harshly- and Ed knew she meant it.

After another few moments of silence, though another faint grin overtook her features, the harsh tension softening away, fading into something easier to take. "He knew better this time, though," she said quietly. "He'd never even been planning on it. Course, by the time I learned that, I'd remembered how much I loved that damn kid and wasn't about to kick him out to go find another teacher."

Ed smiled weakly back, giving her nothing more than an understanding nod. "Well... like I said, thanks," he mumbled back, as nonchalant as he could force it- but the words came out slightly thick, and he knew that Izumi, of all people, knew how much it really meant to him.

In truth, though, he was more relieved than anything else, to find out his brother had never even been considering trying to bring him back with the forbidden.

Because he understood where Izumi was coming from.

Those first two years over in Germany, when it had been just him and Hohenheim, one of his greatest fears had been that Al _would_ try the forbidden again. That he would get home some day, and Al wouldn't be waiting for him, because he'd killed himself trying to bring back someone who wasn't even dead.

It made sense. Everything fit. He'd been ten again, the same age when they'd made that fatal mistake the first time, and all the evidence would've pointed towards him being dead.

It wouldn't be fair of him to get mad at Izumi for suspecting something so terrible, when he'd long suspected the same thing himself.

"...Ed?"

He glanced back up, struggling to quiet the sick sense of relief, unawares at first- then stopped, when her met Izumi's eyes again.

"Ed," she repeated quietly, and her earlier faint smile was completely, utterly gone now. "Be honest with me. ...Have _you_ considered doing it again?"

She did not have to say what _it_ was.

His insides squirmed for one long moment, no matter that he knew he had no right to shy away or be frightened. It'd felt like he'd eaten a plate of worms and they were all suddenly crawling around in his stomach, pushing to get out through his throat. Behind him, he heard the faint sound of a car door closing, then the even fainter rumble of an engine as the car pulled away. Mustang was home. It didn't matter. He listened for a stuttered heartbeat to the silence, then wrenched his focus back onto his teacher, something nervous still twisting in his chest. His hand, already chilled in the wind, suddenly felt cold and clammy, and part of him begged- begged _desperately_ \- to turn away-

But hiding his face was a coward's way of admitting guilt, and he'd been through enough to not face this as just a coward.

Ed raised his head to look back at his old teacher right in the eye. He didn't pull away, and she didn't either, meeting his eyes without flinching or betraying the sick grief he knew she had to feel. "You going to try and beat me up again if I say yes?" he returned quietly, voice hushed as another shiver worked down his spine. He'd betrayed no guilt in his answer, but knew how those words had come across, and he'd known it before he'd ever even started to say it aloud.

He didn't want to lie about this.

Izumi sighed. She, predictably, did not sound very pleased with this.

But the dark anger he'd expected those words to bring was also gone.

"No," she told him quietly, her jaw clenching with silent tension. Her eyes were dark with honesty, a silent, sincere honesty that drove a leaden weight straight down to the bottom of his stomach. "I'll be disappointed. Not angry."

Ed nodded quietly. The words hurt, somehow- but it would've hurt a lot more if she'd lied to him. It was a fair response, too, and he knew he couldn't ask for anything more.

"You... don't need to be disappointed, then, Teacher." He couldn't look away, but found it almost immeasurably hard to look her in the eye anyway. "For a while, I... I _wanted_ to, but- not to the point where I was planning it. I only... thought about it. ...I was never going to actually do it."

"But you did think about it."

He swallowed the growing, thick lump in his throat. "Yes."

"In spite of the fact that you knew it wouldn't work? Or... because of it?"

Ed paused.

He knew, once again, exactly what she was asking. And this time, he knew his answer was going to disappoint her.

"Because of it."

He'd never truly considered human transmutation for his brother. Not seriously, the way they had for their poor mother. He'd never started planning out an array in his head or a way to make it work now when he had once failed. The end result of his brother, alive and well and _happy_ again, had never truly entered his mind as anything more than a hopeless ideal he'd known was doomed from the start.

The end result of him activating that circle, and then dying because of it, had.

Izumi slowly broke his gaze, turning away from him to glance over her shoulder back into the house. The faint sounds of motion from back inside reached him a moment later, then the soft indecision coloring her eyes, and Ed swiftly shook his head, letting his hair fall messily again over his eyes. "You don't have to worry. You don't have to tell Mustang to worry, either... although I guess I can't make you keep it a secret. But I don't think about it anymore. I'm not going to do it. I... I never really was going to, anyway... like I said, it was always just- just wishful thinking. Not serious planning."

He stopped for a pained moment, realizing with almost shock what he'd just said. Wishful thinking. Wishful thinking for a dream to kill himself.

Thank god, Izumi seemed to understand, because the horror he'd been so wary of did not wash over her. She simply nodded in silent understanding, and Ed ducked his head for a moment, gasping in a deep breath to try and keep himself calm. Maybe it was as bad as it sounded, maybe it wasn't- he didn't know. He didn't want to even think about it.

"I was _never_ serious about it," he choked out at last, shivering. And now he stupidly, pathetically was trying to justify himself, justify something that was _not_ justifiable- but he just couldn't help himself. "I was never g-going to- to _do it._ I know it's the wrong choice. I... only really... once." He started to look back up at her, but whenever another shiver rippled down his spine he shut his eyes and pressed a hand over his face, just wanting to hide from everything that he could remember and feel. "When Al had just... died. In that moment... I was drawing the array, the array to open the Gate... and I was going to. I knew I was going to kill... Rainart, and- and rip that place apart. I was going to have the souls to do it. ...I knew I could bring him back- and I almost did."

Izumi was still unreadable, her dark eyes utterly devoid of anything he might attempt to use to tell her reaction- and he was thankful for that, because if she hadn't been so implacable, he might not have been able to go on, and divulge the one remaining secret he still hadn't told to anyone- not even to Roy.

"I had the choice to bring him back, with Rainart's life. And... I was going to do it. I had the array in mind, I'd even started to draw it out, I was _ready_ to do it... I only stopped at the very last second. And I changed my mind, beacuse... because I knew it was what Al would've wanted." He paused, trying to swallow the thick, almost toxic memory of blinding bloodlust tied with blinding grief. "He would've wanted me to tear that place apart and do everything I could to save the others trapped there- not give up everything to bring him back. So... that was what I did. I killed them all." He hesitated, turning the watery chuckle in his throat into a steadier one with what he could only call a heroic effort. "Of course, I was also supposed to die in that transmutation. That probably factored into a little," he spat out bitterly. "I wasn't expecting to live more than a minute or two, and wouldn't have, if Truth hadn't fucked stepped in and ruined everything. Human transmutation sort of loses the appeal when you think you're about to die anyway."

He hadn't told Roy this much- and he didn't think he was ever going to. Roy knew he'd killed Rainart, of course, and he knew that he'd planned to die in that transmutation- but Roy didn't know just how close he'd come to transmuting his brother. In all the things he'd done wrong, this was the one thing that Roy would never understand. He'd never committed that one forbidden sin.

Izumi, however, had.

And she would understand why he'd almost done it again.

Why he still wished, some days, that he had.

Izumi didn't say anything at first; not the judgment, or reprimands, or even the quiet anger that he'd _known_ was a guarantee. She had every right. It had been a selfish, irresponsible choice and whether he'd changed his mind in the end or not, and she would have every right in the world to just get to her feet and turn her back on him.

It was what he was waiting for.

He was shaken, therefore, when all he was given in return was a strong hand on his shoulder.

"You know, Ed," she said softly, and her hand moved to gently mess his hair at the base of his neck, strong fingers still gripping his shoulder tightly, "I'll never be able to understand why you are so convinced your brother would be disappointed in you now."

For a moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't even think. Then, slowly, he forced himself to shake his head, closing his eyes tightly to try and suck in a breath to calm him down. "But I... I never... _Al_ w-wouldn't have-"

"Regardless of whatever mistakes you may have made, and regardless of whatever mistakes you _almost_ made you're trying your best now, Ed." She rubbed his back again, then just pulled him in close to her side, her arm around his shoulders and refusing to pull away. "That's all he'd ask for from you. He _would_ be proud of you for that."

And this time, she didn't let him so much as protest, and held him in a sideways-hug too strong for him to break away.


	15. O is for Oblige

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does nothing cool start with O it is a stupid letter i spent twenty minutes looking through a dictionary for this chapter's title before just giving up it is dumb k bye hope u enjoy

As Ed has predicted, Izumi and Sig did not stay for long. They had their own life back in Dublith, and as glad as they had been to see him and find out he was actually alive, they also didn't have much interest in sticking around Central only for him. Once they had seen for themselves that he was really doing okay and didn't need them to stay, he wasn't very surprised when plans to go back home were soon to follow.

Or... as okay as he could be, under the circumstances, he thought reluctantly.

It was a little over two weeks after Izumi had arrived that Ed found them all waiting in awkward silence in a taxi, heading off to the train station for the overnight train back out east. Once again, he thought a little guiltily, the silence was all his fault. As usual, everything was all his fucking fault. The cab driver probably already thought they were strange enough... a silent, sober Amestrian general, the hulking giant that was Sig Curtis, then the shor-...

 _Unassuming,_ hooded figure sandwiched over by the window... there was no reason to get the cab driver even more interested in them by talking about their business, when their business pretty much all concerned him, and he was still technically in hiding and all of that.

Ed sighed.

He was getting very tired of having to be this jumpy about every single damn stranger he met, just on the off chance they'd recognized him and turn him in.

Izumi had already offered him the chance to go back home with her because of it. And, he admitted, probably at least a little just because she'd missed him. Dublith, she had promised, was still the almost ridiculously anti-military little village he had left behind; in fact, the anti-government sentiments seemed to have gotten even _stronger_ there since the downfall of Bradley's regime. He would be safe there.

Probably the safest he'd been in years.

And, just a few months ago, he would've taken her up on that offer in a heartbeat, and left Central so fast the door probably would've slammed in Roy's face.

Now...

Ed stole another glance at Roy, the general sandwiched against the other window and somehow managing to both sulk, and look dignified while he did it.

Now...

He just didn't want to go.

He sighed again, shutting his eyes as he leaned his head against the cool glass. Roy was another thing that had changed, spurred on by Izumi's appearance. The general had suddenly seemed to disappear more, vanishing away into his study or saying that he was going out with his staff, but Ed wasn't an idiot- he knew he was trying to avoid Izumi. He couldn't exactly blame him, either. Izumi wasn't really doing her best to not be abrasive or make nice- but, then, she wouldn't have been Izumi Curtis if she had. Ed suspected, though, that Roy's sudden desire to want to be anywhere but with her was a bit less that they tended to argue like cats and dogs, and a bit more from apprehension.

He knew that Roy, whether rightfully or not, _did_ still entertain a sense of guilt for what had happened to Al. Right or not, he knew Roy was able to look at Rainart and see at least a bit of himself. And just because it hadn't been _his_ actions didn't mean Roy couldn't see himself, in another world, doing exactly as Rainart had.

And he probably suspected Izumi felt exactly the same way, and was avoiding her because of it.

Because he knew Izumi wouldn't exactly be quiet, if she felt Roy Mustang had had anything at all to do with Al's death.

Ed had just kept his mouth and stayed the hell out of it. He knew he probably should intervene and say _something,_ because the two were tacitly not-fighting over him in the first place, and if he just stepped in and told the both of them to chill out already it would probably go a long way into defusing- whatever this was.

But he stayed out of it anyway.

He understood Roy's willingness to blame himself and entertain a guilt complex when _nothing_ had been remotely his fault a little too well for any of his words on the matter to carry much weight. And because Roy wasn't above using a low blow when he had to, he knew full well that if he tried to tell him to stop blaming himself for Al's death, Roy would come right back at him with the same thing.

And that just... wasn't really something he wanted to talk about.

He didn't want to talk about his brother at all.

The drive to the train station passed in complete, almost painfully awkward silence, and when they finally arrived, it was still only with a little wordless grumbling that Izumi and Sig started to climb out of the car. Without even really thinking about it, Ed followed. His new limbs weren't really the most dexterous in the world, and he found himself having to awkwardly push himself up off Roy's shoulder to stay upright; the general just silently let him do it, maybe even smirked a little, but he let Ed follow Izumi outside without a word. He caught sight of Roy murmuring something to the cab driver and handing over a wad of cash, probably of an obscene amount, and again knew without him having to say anything that Roy was paying him for his time.

He was letting him take as long as he needed to say goodbye.

His throat tightened again, though he couldn't really say for why, and for a moment, Ed felt the passing urge just to punch him for being a sentimental sap.

And for making him feel this painfully _grateful._

But there wasn't time for any of that.

All there was time for was this.

Izumi stood back a few paces while he fidgeted uncomfortably against the side of the car, trying to hold still under her gaze. He felt awful, and, once again, could barely say why. He knew she had to leave, had known since the first day she'd shown up she never would be able to stay- and, honestly, thinking about how awkward and uncomfortable the last two weeks at Roy's place had been, knew it really was for the best. The strange, unsettled dynamic that had persisted between Roy and her wasn't sustainable, and while he knew they had done their best to put their differences aside for his sake, this was just how things had to be. Besides, it wasn't as if she was leaving _forever!_ He could still call her, any time he needed anything at all, and they could still write, and knowing her if she even _thought_ anything was wrong she'd already be packing her bags to come back to Central, and it wasn't as if Dublith was a fucking world away anyway, it was barely four hours by train-

...

And, he really didn't want to watch anyone else that he cared for turn around and leave him right now, because he knew there was a chance they wouldn't come back.

Izumi cleared her throat first, stepping forward to break the silence in the oddly stifling dark of the early night. "You know that if you ever get sick of that military dogs, we'd take you in in a second."

He nodded weakly. Somehow, it was hard to smile. "Y-yeah. Yeah, I... do." The fact that it was only because of _that military dog_ that we was staying went unsaid, because he didn't have to say it. His teacher knew it, too.

Izumi smiled slightly as well, but, just like his own, it seemed a little forced, quietly smothering a regretful sorrow. "Good."

There was another moment of quiet, but this time, before Ed had the chance to feel nervous or stiffen with the tension of what was about to happen again, Izumi cast a slightly suspicious look at the car, then gestured for him to follow her. She took just a few steps back, not far but far enough, for this to go from a conversation between the four of them to one just between the two of them. "Ed," she said quietly, that was all, but again- it was enough.

Rubbing his face with a slightly shaking hand, he followed.

"Ed," she started softly again, wasting no time. Her dark eyes flickered again towards the cab, then landed steadily back on him, and she reached out to rest a tight hand on his flesh shoulder. "I've been doing some thinking, about all you've told me about that other world. You told me that the first time you went there, with Hohenheim, you showed near where your counterparts were? Where the-" She made a face, "those- German Hohenheim and German You were?"

"...er... yeah." He rubbed at his face again, a little thrown by the strange turn. The anxious twist in his chest had abated a bit, at least, loosened by his confusion. "Teacher, what-"

"And the second time you appeared there, with your brother, you showed up near his counterpart?"

"I... guess so." He tilted his head, still completely and utterly lost. "I mean, he'd died, but we showed up- pretty close to his body, I guess. But, why are you asking me about-"

"And then, when you came back home, after Al had died... using his killer's body to get here." She paused, expression and eyes still implacable. She glanced quietly towards the car again. "And, you appeared right in front of General Mustang's living room."

Ed blinked.

He opened his mouth and shut it.

He stared.

It was perfectly silent.

And Izumi just stood in front of him, waiting quietly for his answer.

After several stunned, impossible moments, he coughed, finally managing to clear his suddenly thick throat. He folded his arms almost defensively, again shifting his weight in impossible tension. He almost felt sick with understanding.

She wasn't just right. She was far more _right_ than she would ever know.

And, in her eyes, he saw that she knew it, too.

"...Yeah." He coughed again, swallowing, and though it took more willpower than he wanted to admit, he forced himself to stand still and again look her right in the eye. He stood between her and Roy again, as he felt he had for two weeks straight, and he held back the memory of his own anguish to keep himself calm. "...Yeah, Teacher."

_You're right._

_He did it._

Izumi watched him again, saying nothing, but again, the look in that heavy, heavy stare was everything that he needed to know.

She did not push him past him to go throttle the oblivious, waiting general to death, though, and- and that, really, was the best that he could ever ask for, from her.

Once again, it took her several seconds to speak, and once again, her words were quiet, so calm and steady on the cool air that not even Sig, just a few feet away, could hear them. "Does he know?" she asked, cold and, by the sound of it, almost emotionless- but he knew her well enough to find the black fire of anger lurking just underneath the words.

He nodded stiffly, steeling himself. "Yeah. He does." Ed folded his arms again, still standing in an almost protective stance in between the two. "And he already feels like shit about it, so there's not that much need for us to bring it up again."

Once again, she didn't react outwardly, at least, not in a way that he could see. Maybe it was just that it had been so long since he'd seen her before all of this, maybe it was that that this was one of the first times they'd ever really spoken as equals, not master and student- but he couldn't read her anymore, and something about that unsettled him just enough to take another step back in Roy's direction.

When he realized what he'd done, he promptly hated himself for it even more.

This was Izumi. He had no reason to _ever_ be afraid of her. She had never, _once,_ given him a reason to distrust her. But here he was, unease and an actual ghost of fear shot down his spine, lingering in him from head to toe, making his stomach ache and his fingers tremble, _Roy_ the only person in the world right now that he could actually trust and feel safe with- and it was all Ed could do to just fucking stand still and not hate himself into oblivion for it.

He was sick and tired of feeling like this, and he was even more sick and tired of feeling like it about people who'd done absolutely nothing to deserve it.

Izumi just looked at him, her eyes unreadable enough that he couldn't tell if she'd noticed his stupid, hyperactive, fucking _dumb_ instinct to pull away or not. She probably had. Of course she had; she wasn't an idiot. Of course she'd seen it. But she didn't say anything to call him out on it. Rather, Izumi just held still for several seconds, simply watching him- then just reached out a hand to rest it firmly back on his shoulder again.

And the angry light of retribution in her eyes and snap of vengeful rage in her voice he'd been so ready to defend against simply was not there.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're happy here, Ed," she told him bluntly, and all that he saw in her quiet words and eyes was the non-judgmental warmth of understanding. "Because I know that's not a fair question to ask you right now. But... you _do_ think that this is where you want to be? Being here, and with him? Right now, this is where you want to be?"

He swallowed tightly again, and once more thought of everything that Roy had risked, sacrificed, and suffered, just to try and keep him as safe and happy as possible.

He once again thought that this really was the only place in the world that he felt safe right now.

"Yeah," he told her quietly, "it is."

Again, his old alchemy teacher just watched him for several seconds, speculative but quiet, evaluative but still non-judgmental. He held his ground and his own silence, and, somehow, found himself waiting for her answer to him- and, in some way, her answer to Roy, as well.

And finally, she gave it to him, with the slight relaxing of her stern face into a small smile.

"Then that's good enough for me," she told him, and squeezed his shoulder again.

And then, squaring her shoulders, she was gone, marching off past him to return to the cab and rap sharply on Roy's window. Ed started, and imagined he wasn't the only one, since it took a few seconds for the general to emerge, rolling the window down to look up at his old teacher with some mix of surprise and restrained irritation. "Er... yes?"

" _You,"_ she announced, getting down so they could be eye to eye. Ed found himself tensing even though he knew there was almost no need to, part of him suddenly on edge that he was going to have to pull her back- but all she did was speak, steadily and coldly in the night. " _You_ are going to take care of him. Do you understand me?"

It was hard to see, in the low light and with Izumi blocking most of him, but Ed was pretty sure Roy's main answer to that was a glare. "What exactly do you think I've been trying to-"

"You are going to take care of him," she went on as if he hadn't even said a word, "because if you don't, I will know. So unless you want to see me out here again, you're going to start doing a better job than what you have been, General." She raised a hand to point even as Ed bristled, wanting to speak up now, say _something_ about Roy not even needing to take care of him in the first place, he was a grown ass man and could do it himself, he- "Make him eat more," she said, and, well, apparently it was too late for him to speak up and stop this. "He's not Ed unless he's eating, and he doesn't look like he's been eating enough. So, make him eat more. Make him go outside, because he looks like you haven't let him out in months, and that's not right, either. Make him do _something_ other than hole up with a textbook all day, because that's not healthy, and you know it. Make him... be _better._ Or you're going to be seeing a lot more of me, Mustang."

Once again, Ed wanted to point out that it wasn't really Roy's job to take care of him, first and foremost because he could take care of himself- and it certainly wasn't his job to just make him _be better._ He wasn't a child anymore. He did not need someone there to look after him like he was.

Sig, however, caught his eye, just as he was about to speak up, and stopped him.

"The fact that they want to take care of you doesn't mean they think you can't do it yourself, Ed," he said quietly, just quietly enough to not break into the two alchemists' conversation. Somehow, he seemed to have known exactly what Ed was going to say. "It just means they care about you. That's it."

Ed hesitated. His heart throbbed painfully, gaze resting on Izumi's back, and the shadowed outline of Roy, still in the car. His throat went tight and, once again, he found himself remembering just how much Roy was risking for his sake alone- and how much pain Ed had already put him through ever since coming home.

He thought about Izumi, and how willingly she and Sig had just put their lives on hold to come here even on the pathetic off chance that they might be able to do something to help him.

He thought about Al, and the fact that he'd died because of him.

"Maybe... they shouldn't." He folded his arms tighter, shivering slightly in the wind again, and found his gaze sucked down to his feet.

And once again, Sig just grinned.

"Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn't." He shrugged, his eyes, too, resting on his wife. "But that's the thing- you don't really get a choice but to oblige us. If we love you and want to help you, well, there's just nothing you can do about it besides accept it."

Izumi moved several paces back from the car, standing back to just look down at Roy. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see her expression- but he could imagine it, just the same, when, after several seconds, all she did was nod, and at last announce the quiet praise of, "You'll do."

It didn't sound much like praise, but Ed had known her long enough to know that that was what it was. It really was the highest praise she would give, in this situation... and he'd never thought he'd live to see the day when it'd be given to Roy.

Then, with a loud, almost business-like sigh, his old teacher turned away from Roy to move back towards him, this time with an air of finality. "And as for _you,_ you little troublemaker," she told him, and once again, he was given absolutely no room to protest, because the very second he opened his mouth he found himself swept into a nearly spine-shattering hug.

"...take care of yourself, kid," she told him softly, down by his ear. Her voice was surprisingly thick, suddenly heavy with emotion out of nowhere- and once again, the words were for no one but him. He felt her squeeze a little tighter. "And try and take care of that military dog of yours, too."

After several stunned seconds, he just swallowed tightly again and lifted his arms up to hug her back, for the last time.

* * *

By the time they got back to Roy's home, Ed was numb.

He followed the silent general inside, still without saying a word himself, and found himself stumbling forwards to just stand there uselessly while the door was shut behind him, listening to the sound of the locks. He knew it was late, approaching midnight, and that, by all rights, he should be tired and just want to go to sleep. Especially after the day he'd had- he really, really wanted nothing more than to just shut his brain off and stop thinking for a while.

Well, he supposed he _was_ tired, but... it was a restless sort of tired. The kind where he could already tell if he tried to go to sleep, he'd just end up tossing and turning until five in the morning, and be miserable, and then spend the whole next day as a useless and miserable headache for himself and everyone around him.

He also just didn't want to go back and lie there in the dark for several hours _alone._

Roy, who'd already been in the process of walking past him, shrugging off his coat to toss it somewhere, paused. "You okay?" he asked over his shoulder, eye darkening with a hint of worry.

Ed started. "Uh... yeah." It wasn't really a lie, he thought, but even if he wasn't okay, there just wasn't anything for Roy to do about it, and there was no point in saying it. He coughed and hugged himself, trying to wipe away the exhausted apprehension on his face and just look like a normal fucking well-adjusted person for once. "Yeah, I... I guess I'm just tired, or something." He shook his head, trying to force his feet back to his room to sulk in solitude- but they just wouldn't move.

Roy gave him another look, one that screamed he knew exactly how much bullshit he was trying to pull, but said nothing. Rather, after a moment of just watching him, the general merely turned away to sit down on his couch- but rather getting ready for bed himself, he steadily reached out for a collection of half-finished paperwork, uncapped a pen with his teeth, then went to work.

Without looking, he pointed with one steady finger for Ed to join him.

"If you're not going to be able to sleep, then at least stay out here and keep me company while I finish this up."

Ed frowned at him. "Who said I wasn't going to be able to sleep?"

Roy pointed harder at the space next to him, and continued signing.

And somehow, that was how Ed ended up slumped on the couch beside him, curled loosely around himself and only the scratch of Roy's pen for company.

The whole house was pretty much covered in the borrowed books Ed had been reading, pretty much the only thing he really had to do to occupy his time. He felt almost guilty for the mess sometimes, but Roy had never showed any sign that he'd cared- in fact, Ed didn't think he'd ever seen the man so much as try to clean up. The general probably actually cared a little less than was healthy, if he really thought about it, but it didn't matter now, because now, Ed was just able to reach out and grab one of the abandoned books just sitting at arm's length, curl himself around it, and try to block out everything else to just focus on the here and the now.

It was quiet for a few minutes. He watched his hand slowly clench around the corner of the first page, worrying it between his fingers.

"...Sorry," he mumbled at last. He still couldn't make himself look up from the book. "I just... miss her, I guess. I know it's stupid." He swallowed tightly, banishing away the crack in his voice as firmly as he could. "...I'll be fine tomorrow."

He couldn't tell, his face still hidden in the book, but he didn't think Roy was looking at him either. "It's not stupid to miss someone," he said quietly, the words interspersed around more scratches of his pen. There was another pause. "You know, if you ever want to see her again, all you have to do is just quit writing to her for a week or so. She already told me that if you ever don't write or call her for more than two weeks, she's coming back up here."

At that, Ed had to laugh, even if it was weak and tired. It sounded like a joke, but he knew very well that she hadn't been kidding. "Probably to file kidnapping charges against you," he muttered, sinking a little bit more onto his side so he could curl even more around the book. "Don't worry. I'll write to her this weekend."

He caught a smirk out of the corner of his eye, but Roy didn't say anything, letting him return to not-reading his book in silence, and Ed sighed again. He forced himself to actually focus on the words on the page, the words he'd already read three times while staying here and probably five times in the last stupid minute. If he could just get himself into the damn thing, maybe he could actually forget about the way he felt right now and just read until he actually fell asleep.

Several minutes later, he was still staring numbly at the first page.

He blinked dully, watching the tiny words blur. He felt more tired than before, sleep not so impossible anymore. He still, however, did not feel any better. "Um..." He coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. "I think I might start going out a little at night. Like Teacher said." He kept his eyes down, then just closed them, slipping a finger down to mark his place. "Just walking around and shit. It'll... probably help me sleep better, I guess."

He knew he needed to start trying to face the outside world again. Acknowledging it as something that existed and was _there_ , and a place he was going to have to return to someday. He couldn't hide here forever, no matter how much safer and just _better_ he felt here than probably anywhere else in the damn world right now. Like Izumi had told him more than once these past couple days, just because he wanted to hide here didn't mean that the world stopped moving while he did it. Her appearance here had, if nothing else, reminded him of that, and been the push he needed to realize that if he ever wanted to move on, then he couldn't do it by hiding away from all the rest that was real.

Because, she had told him, even if nothing else mattered to him, it wasn't what Al would've wanted.

And, he supposed, the only way for him to start trying to face the real world again was just to make himself go out and do it.

Roy was silent for several seconds; Ed could tell the out-of-nowhere words had surprised him. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ed hunkered down a little more, curling up on his side to pillow one cheek against the hard edge of his book. Again, he tried not to think about anything that he was feeling, and he especially tried not to think about the quiet knot of ever-present sadness in his stomach.

"...Okay," the general said at last, his voice guarded. "That's fine. As long as you don't get angry when I worry about you every time you so much as step outside."

He smiled weakly. "You know you really don't have to worry about me."

"...you know that I don't worry about you because I _have_ to, Ed."

There was an uncertain moment of silence, and once again, Ed tried not to think about the tightness of the emotion in his throat.

In the end, he said nothing at all, and just pressed his face a little more against the book's cover and the couch, wrapped loosely into a ball. He knew he should be getting up, dragging himself to go lie down like a normal person, but felt entirely too limp and heavy now to manage it. Somehow, right now, he wanted nothing more than to just lie here beside Roy and never even have to move ever again.

He'd get up. Later. He'd get himself up later, when Roy finished his paperwork and went to sleep himself. _Yeah,_ he thought with a sleepy satisfaction, and shut his eyes tighter. That was just what he would do, and until then, all he had to do was lie here and listen to Roy's pen scratch and the rustle of paperwork.

The last thing he felt was the soft edge of a blanket being dragged over his shoulders, then the warm settling of a hand on his head.


	16. P is For the People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um. This was supposed to be fluff. And actually be up this morning. But I live with very loud, very drunk people. And so I have a headache, and on-time fluff became late arguing. Sorry ;_; on the upside, I think it actually turned out better this way maybe...? See you next time!

Ed opened his eyes.

He glared up at the ceiling.

He shut them.

He gave the bed a half-hearted punch.

He rolled over.

Another punch.

...

 _Well,_ he thought miserably to himself, _no more use in pretending._

No more sleep for him.

He stayed down for several moments, kicking idly at rumpled sheets that suddenly felt confining, make another tired sort of attempt to free himself from them without really caring, one way or the other. It somehow felt almost uncomfortably cold, cold even though he _knew,_ logically, it wasn't. Didn't matter. He could see all the proof in the world that it was perfectly normal, reasonable temperature in here right now; none of that stopped his stupid body from whining and shivering and complaining that he was fucking freezing and miserable and...

Pretty much a complete mess.

He sighed, punching the bed again, and opened his eyes.

Ed was beginning to really feel like his life was just one giant ball of feeling sick and tired of being a mess.

After several moments of just lying there, listening to his own heart pound and the clock tick, he shook his head vigorously, wrenching himself upright. He didn't even let himself just sit there and get his bearings again, either, just kicking himself out of bed and not slowing even when his prosthetic tried to buckle under his weight, complaining at him with a bone-deep sort of ache. This sort of pain was good. He was used to it. He could deal with it. He could feel this sort of pain and focus on it, let it distract him from-

From other things he just couldn't deal with.

Ed rounded the room a couple times, trying to move as quietly as he could and not make any noise as he fought to warm up and get his artificial limbs moving again. It was too dark for him to see the time, but that wasn't important. He couldn't let anything like that matter to him, when he felt like this. As usual, he didn't let himself think, or at least, tried really fucking hard not to, and just stared at his feet as they moved, one after another. After a few tense moments of testing his balance- still a little unsteady but fuck it, good enough- he turned roughly off towards the window, grabbing a jacket up off the floor, and clapped to get rid of the glass and let himself go outside.

It was just easiest if he didn't think.

Ed did this a lot, nowadays. He'd found himself repeating the same pattern so much he almost had it down to a science, now, no matter how probably unhealthy or dangerous it was or not: have a nightmare. Feel awful because of said nightmare. Slip outside in the middle of the night. Walk around and keep his mind occupied on just about anything else besides said nightmare. Finally stumble back inside, drained and exhausted, and pass out just before sunrise. Feel awful the rest of the day. Rinse and repeat. For fucking ever, apparently.

He was pretty sure Roy knew. Because Roy was a smug ass who knew fucking everything. But he hadn't said anything about it. Yet. He probably would. At some point he probably would, and Ed would, as usual, find himself with nothing to say, and no decent excuse to give for why he _still_ , after all this time, felt like such a disaster that all it took was a measly dream to shake him up to the point that he couldn't so much as face Roy, or manage anything at all but just getting out of the fucking house.

Ed sighed again, tugging his hood more securely over his head, and found himself helpless to do anything but glare at the ground and stomp through the yard to the street.

His hands were still shaking.

It was easy enough for him to find his way by now; he'd done it often enough he could manage it without thinking. He was able to duck away from the streetlamps and cut through the roads to get away from Roy's street, dangerously deserted at this time of night in a way that called attention to him, attention that he couldn't stand and was just _bad,_ and wander more towards the center of town. There were always drunks out at this time of night, drunks who he could blend in with, drunks who wouldn't look twice.

Yeah, it had taken some getting used to, relearning the simple fucking human fact that he could be near other people and _not_ have to fear for his life, and sometimes anxious terror still quaked inside him, forming a cage of ice around his heart- but he could handle it now, and that was all that really mattered, wasn't it.

He'd already accepted how damn pathetic he'd become a long time ago, anyway.

Already, Ed found himself starting to forget the nightmare that had caused all of this in the first place.

That was one of the best things about this newfound habit of his; wandering around after dark, probably looking like a crazy person. If he just got moving the second he woke up, distracted himself, he'd forget it, sooner or later. Dreams were weird like that; especially vivid and horrifying in the moment, but once he'd woken up, thank god, not around to stay. Once he got up and got moving, it would fade away, just like everything else- and that was the only way he could really live with it.

He couldn't keep remembering everything that had happened in that place every single night, or he would really would go insane.

Ed hesitated, his steps slowing slightly, and found himself reaching up to weakly grasp at his new shoulder. He swallowed tightly, shaking through the sick grief still swimming in his chest.

It had been about Al. He didn't need to remember specifics to know that much.

They were always about Al.

He slowed momentarily again, lurching his thoughts off that path before it went to bad places and he ended up having a breakdown in the middle of the damn city. No. _No_ thinking about Al. That was bad. He just... couldn't do that. _No._ Shaking his head vigorously, Ed came to a halt on a street corner and forced himself to focus, casting his gaze about to make sure everything was still safe and just refusing to let his thoughts go anywhere else but the here and the now.

There were the proper amount of drunks out for two in the morning, he told himself, still fighting hard to keep himself present and the sick, anxious grief and old panic inside him from grabbing him in a vise all over again. It was all mostly just people having a good time and paying no attention to the hooded guy stumbling miserably down the sidewalk past them. No one ever paid attention to him, and that was good. That was how he liked it. How he _needed_ it. Satisfied, breathing out a shaky, gasping sigh of relief, Ed lowered his head once again and set back to his aimless walk, pretty much oriented towards anywhere besides right here, and the way he felt right now.

As hard as it was for him to believe it, he actually did feel better than even ten minutes ago, and that was the only reason he still kept going.

As loathe as he was to admit it, sometimes, going out at night whenever he felt like this actually was a big help. As exhausted as he'd end up the next day, and as much as he knew it still worried Roy, it _did_ make him feel better. _Or, at least.._. he thought reluctantly, hugging himself a little in the cold, _not as bad, anyway..._

Izumi had been right. Holing himself up in that room all day and night really hadn't been doing any wonders for him. It was a good reminder that the world was still moving on outside of him, that other things _did_ exist beside his own mess, and that, no matter how shitty he felt, the rest of the world wasn't just leaving him behind.

No matter how much he sometimes wanted it to.

Ed sighed gruffly, again making an effort to keep himself grounded in the present. He looked around the street, searching for something- _anything-_ to keep his mind occupied and away from the agonizing trap that was his brother. Couldn't think about that. Nope. _Nope._ Literally _anything_ but that.

Central City was mostly the same as he remembered it, similar enough that he hadn't even gotten lost yet- although, given his luck, he was sure that night was coming. Seven years could be an infinitely long time in his own life, but in the grand scheme of things, it barely passed as even a second. He glanced around the street again, shivering a little and again trying to calm down just a little bit, his heart still pounding just as hard as when he'd woken up. Mostly the same. Similar enough, he supposed, familiar in a way that was almost strange. Same buildings. Same streets. A few differences, probably from the reconstruction after the invasion five years ago- but small enough that if he hadn't really been looking for it, he probably would've missed it. Same everything. Even, probably, the same people.

He wondered if it was still the same in Germany.

Up ahead of him, a big group made their exit onto the street, loud and cheering as they hit the sidewalk. Almost against his will Ed found himself slowing down, reeling back a few steps, already hypersensitive mind reeling even more into overdrive as he analyzed them, looking over for any possible threats or danger. There weren't any- there were _never_ any, no matter how hard he ever looked, always trying to find _any_ justification for how easily something fucking normal like just a fucking group of people could scare him now- but all the same, Ed just found himself shaking his head and turning away, heading off down the nearest side street so that he wouldn't have to deal with it. Not tonight. Not now. Not when his hands were still shaking, and his heart was still pounding, and he _still_ felt this fucking jumpy and ridiculous and sick, and-

And no. Just _no._

"Fuck you all," Ed muttered under his breath, half-hiding in the nearest alley as he listened to the loud group head on past him without a care in the world. Who was he even talking to; himself, for being so pathetic, those men, for having the audacity to sound so carefree and happy, the world in general, for daring to fucking exist like this? Whatever. Didn't matter. Fuck all of them.

He sighed again, disgusted with himself, disgusted with himself as much as he knew Al would be, and turned away deeper into the alley.

Izumi may have been right about getting him out of the house, and these midnight walks _did_ help calm him down, giving him the first pseudo sort of treatment for nightmares he'd ever had, since getting back from Germany- but they did absolutely nothing for his mood. In fact, he was starting to think they made it even worse.

Ed just wandered for a while, keeping away from the main streets now just so he wouldn't have to feel like such a weak, pathetic piece of shit every time he found himself crossing the street just to avoid someone. Though it probably didn't matter much, at this point; it was getting later and later, even the bars closing and drunks wandering home. Even criminals were respectable enough to be in bed at this hour. But here he was. Wandering around. Some time past three in the morning. Ed Elric, starring in the I Have No Excuse, I Am a Completely Non-Functional and Maladjusted Adult Saga. Produced, written by, and starring, him.

At that one, Ed really could almost hear his brother laughing at him and begging him to stop being so stupidly melodramatic.

His chest hurt, and he swallowed hard, again battling the grief he could feel building up into such an uncontrollable mass at the back of his mind it was just about to swallow him whole.

It hadn't felt this bad, this potent, this crushing, this _real,_ in a while.

No matter how shitty Ed felt, though, and how much he really didn't feel like facing Roy right now, he did have to at last admit to himself he was going to have to turn back soon. Hitting the streets as a hooded stranger in the middle of the night was okay. People didn't look twice or ask questions. Doing so in broad daylight was not okay. Plus, it looked like it was about to rain. Granted, he wasn't as rain-phobic as a certain general, but standing outside getting dumped water on just because he'd had a bad dream sounded a bit too lame and pathetic for even _him_ to tolerate. Not to mention the fact that the water would probably ruin his arm and leg. As fucking miserable as it made him that he didn't even have the freedom to just stay out here and wait until he'd calmed down and felt a least a small fucking bit better- no. Even that much was too much to ask for. He had no choice or freedom anymore. He had to go back.

Groaning tiredly, Ed rubbed at his eyes and swallowed back his own misgivings, and that dammed _stupid,_ familiar, tiny wave of fear that swept through him at the thought of dealing with Roy, _not fucking Rainart stupid brain,_ after a dammed nightmare like this. There was no point in bemoaning how much this sucked, he reminded himself. There was no point in any of this right now. He just had to get himself together enough to act like he was okay. And he could do that, right? He'd had plenty of practice in it. He'd done that shit all his life. As devastatingly bad as he seemed at nearly _everything,_ lately, bad and lame and _pathetic,_ surely he could manage at least that much.

Ed scoffed aloud, kicking one of his feet at the dusty street, and let his shoulders slump in a sigh.

Al really wouldn't even know what to do with him anymore, if he could see him like this.

With a heavy sigh, Ed rubbed at his eyes again, forced all such worthless thoughts out of mind for now, and just forced himself to turn around. Already, he started mentally calculating the fastest way back to Roy's place. This seemed like it was just going to be one of those days where he felt dammed awful and nothing was going to fix it. Well, fine, he could feel like that, and he could become even more of a mess later, after Roy had gone to work- but first, he had to actually make it back home. Right now, that was what he had to focus on- before it started raining and ruining his new limbs, or, worse, someone recognized him.

Unfortunately, he realized, not even five minutes later as he stumbled through the deserted park, turning every which way and yet completely _lost_ , he probably should've mentally calculated his way back a little better.

"Fuck it," he grumbled harshly, trying to push back the small beat of panic. He definitely hadn't come this way before. Left, maybe...? No- "Damn it, I just _had_ to cut through the fucking park, didn't I? Whoever thought of making parks without street signs? Why?" He cursed as his wooden foot started to buckle, angry at him for moving so fast through the slick grass, and tugged his jacket and hood a little tighter, trying to calm down. No. No, this was fine. This was fine, right? Worst case scenario, he'd just have to find his way back to the actual road and figure it out from there, _right?_ He wasn't so much of a disaster that he couldn't handle getting lost in his own home. He was a completely screwed up adult, sure, but he was still an _adult,_ not a five year old child. Yeah. This was fine. Worst case scenario, he'd _still_ be fine, just a little late, and Roy-

Well, Roy could just have his little heart attack when he woke up and found him missing, and deal with it, because the idiot _really_ needed to stop worrying about him so much anyway.

Ed took a few more wrong turns, cursing himself every time, but finally stumbled upon a fork in the path that he found familiar and shot down the right way instantly, breathing a sigh of relief. "Got it from here, at least," he muttered to himself, limping a little faster but breathing easier now. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, eager to just get back home now, and turned a corner again.

He stopped.

He blinked.

Oh. Right. _That_ was the reason he'd never cut through this park before.

Giant fucking statue of Bradley, right fucking there.

Honestly, in his unbiased and cultured opinion, the thing was an ugly eyesore and a disgrace, and he'd thought so since he'd first seen it with Al- way before he'd even known their dear leader was a crazy homunculus hellbent on world domination. It was just imposing, and overbearing, and smug, and... _ugly_. Now that he knew the truth about Bradley, it rubbed him even more the wrong way to see it there.

To see that asshole standing up there, overbearing smile carved in stone forever, was just wrong.

All the shit that monster had put this country through, all the people he'd killed, what he'd _done_ to Ishval, and what Roy had risked to get rid of him once and for all-

And the government still put him up like a damn hero, because it was easier than owning up to what he'd done.

His lip pulled back in disgust, and Ed glared even more darkly at the damn thing's infuriating, smiling face.

It reminded him _way_ too fucking much of Hitler.

He wondered darkly if they'd finished building that statue of him in Munich by now.

Once again, Ed could almost hear Al, it was so real- the memory of one of the last times they'd seen the thing, before the Nazis had captured them. Al pointing out how sickening it was, and Ed, just without the words to express how much he agreed with it.

He paused. Slowly, the inkling of an idea hit.

"Sickening...?" he murmured under his breath, and cast a quick, suspicious look around the park. Nope. Still deserted.

For the first time all night, he grinned.

If he was going to feel awful today, and if this nightmare really was going to weigh over him like this for the rest of the day, then he might as well accept it- and give himself at least _something_ to feel good about.

"Let's see if we can fix that, then... Al."

He clapped his hands.

* * *

Roy was _not happy._

8:01 AM.

Sun: fully up. Sky: broad daylight. Streets: just starting to get full of people. Rain: just starting up to turn into a real downpour.

Oh? And, yes-

Ed: gone.

Roy cursed, for the third time in as many minutes, and continued to pace, keep an eye on his watch, and, above all, glare at the door, waiting for it to open.

Still, nothing.

Ed. Gone.

Just like all morning.

Dammed _brat._

Courtesy of the near heart attack he'd gotten when he'd woken up only to find himself completely, utterly alone, Roy had hunted for any sign of a trail he could find, trying to assure himself that Ed was at least okay. He'd found signs of a recent transmutation on his window, and was familiar enough with Ed's style that he'd finally been able to recognize them as his. The jacket the kid had taken to wearing whenever he went outside at night was gone, too. That, and the fact that there were no signs of a struggle, had at least confirmed to him what had happened-

But it didn't change the fact that with every minute that Ed didn't get back here, he got more and more annoyed.

And more and more worried.

God dammed _brat._

This had already been a hard enough week as it was. He was exhausted, problems at work piling up on top of the fact that his mind had just decided this week was going to be one of _those_ weeks, the kind where getting out of bed really was too much to ask for and he wanted nothing more than to lie on his couch, sleep, and ignore the rest of the world for a month. And now, for Ed to go and so something like _this,_ on top of it all-

He glared darkly at his door, then his watch again, watching the second hand tick by, and gritted his teeth, biting back the violent curse of annoyance that rose again to his tongue.

He was starting to think Ed really had no conception of how much he could really _worry_ other people.

At 8:05, Roy picked up his phone again, preparing to call Hawkeye and change his _I'll be late today_ into an _I'm not coming in today._ At 8:06, he put it back down- _premature, unnecessary, not yet, Roy, not yet,_ and started pacing again. At 8:10, he thrust back his curtains to glare at the growing storm, equal parts concern and confusion growing inside him. What the hell was Ed even _doing?_ He knew his arm and leg weren't meant for something like this! _He should be back here!_

At 8:20, Roy had just started to corral his panic into something useful, and use it to draw up plans to somehow enlist his men into a city-wide manhunt without telling them the truth about Ed.

At 8:21, he had just started to conclude that that was impossible when he finally heard a noise on his doorstep.

He glared again. The vein in his forehead throbbed. Again.

Slowly, hands still shaking with hot anger, Roy wrenched himself upright, stormed towards the door, and threw it open.

Ed. Drowned rat version. Blinking up at him past his wet hair and hood.

Ah, yes- and looking completely and utterly innocent.

"Uh... hey?" the alchemist said, and grinned.

It was the grin that did it.

Ed could've capitalized on this, he really could have- he could have taken advantage of Roy's relief to see him okay, and managed to spin this around in his favor and calm him down, and use that relief to stop Roy from getting mad at him like he deserved-

But that small, self-satisfied little grin.

Roy's patience, admittedly, already a thin and tenuous thing this week, whether it was Ed's fault or not, snapped.

"Shut up," he growled back, and forcefully tugged the kid straight back into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Look," Ed started, before he'd even had a chance to. He really sounded too innocent and guiltless to even be fair. "I... I know what you're going to say, but I just... got a little lost, I guess, and-"

"The sun's been up for two hours!" Roy turned violently back around, swinging a fist back at his door in a fruitless gasp, trying and failing to work out some of the pent up nervous energy that had been growing inside him for hours. The fact that Ed looked entirely unrepentant was _not helping._ "It's been raining for even longer than that! What is _wrong_ with you?! Are you trying to get yourself caught?! I can't help you if you run off and get yourself seen and _arrested;_ are you out of your mind, Ed?! Are you actually trying to make this as difficult for me as possible now?!"

It was Ed's turn to glare now, the sudden accusations evidently making the brat realize he just wasn't getting out of this one unscathed. He just blinked at first, simply looking up at him in surprise- but then started to sour all on his own. His expression contorted in anger as he ripped his hood off his dripping hair and glared right back at him, standing there like this was a fight and he wasn't interested in doing anything but fighting back. "And just what the hell's _your_ problem?" he challenged, bright eyes flashing dangerously. "I can take care of myself! You know, no one asked you to lose your damn mind just because I decided to head outside by myself for a few hours, Roy!"

Roy stared back, the almost sickened worry from before morphing into disbelief, and the anger growing even harder to control. Unbelievable. _Unbelievable._ Could Ed really not grasp what he'd done wrong here? "You can't go outside during the day, Ed!" he shot back, and it took a real effort not to yell it at him. He'd spent _hours,_ worried out of his mind- and here Ed was, acting like he didn't even have a care in the world! "We've been through this, and you _can't!_ It's too dangerous! You could-"

"Oh, fuck you; don't act like you can tell me what to do. You're not my damn father! You can't make rules for me and order me around anymore! Too _dangerous?_ Really?" Ed threw up a hand in exasperation as he started to turn away, looking rather like he wanted to make a dramatic exit and just stomp off rather than continue this disaster of a conversation. "Coming from the guy who used to order me after crazy murderers and terrorists. Really. Too dangerous for me to be outside. That's nice. Nice to know you think I'm really that pathetic now and can't even take care of myself."

"For god's sake, Ed, I know you're not stupid, so don't act like it. You _know_ that's not what I think. You know why it's too dangerous." He broke off for a moment to just look at him, still almost shaking in the nervous work off of fear and anger. Damn it. _Damn it,_ he didn't know how they had even started arguing, but now it was happening, and Ed really wasn't trying very hard to diffuse the situation. Nor was Roy much in the mood to do the same. After what Ed ha done-

Hell, if the kid wanted a fight, then that was just what he was going to get, this time. After the week he'd had? After the _morning_ he had? And after the way Ed had just waltzed in here, obviously unapologetic, obviously completely unbothered after worrying him so much-? No. Roy was just _not_ capable of controlling his temper today, and too bad for Ed because of it. Except, not too bad for Ed, because the kid really did seem to be trying his hardest to provoke him, and Roy was only too willing to oblige. "Damn it, Ed, if you're actually _trying_ to be as difficult as possible-"

"Just shut up already!" Ed, before looking like he was about to stomp back to his room and just ignore him, suddenly turned back, eyes blazing again as he met his glare head on. "So I got lost and came back a little late! It's not the end of the world- and quit acting like I did it on purpose, already! It was an accident, Roy! _Hell!"_

"An _accident?!"_

" _Yes!"_ Ed shouted back, plainly frustrated. "What, you think I _chose_ to go get stuck in the rain out there like this? Yes, damn it, Roy, it was a damn accident! I didn't do it on purpose! What are you so fucking mad about?"

Roy stared. Ed glared back. Roy stared for a moment longer. Ed continued to glare right back.

Then, Roy just sighed.

Groaning, he slumped back to lean against the wall, rubbing a hand over his eye roughly and cursing the very beginnings of this whole messed up day. He shook his head again, still biting his tongue, and forced himself to keep his voice at least relatively calm.

Impossible.

This was impossible.

"You expect me to believe," he said at last, slowly, and so calmly that he should've been given a medal for that feat alone, "that this really was an accident."

Ed actually had the gall to look almost offended, at that one. He actually looked _offended_ at the insinuation. He stared up at Roy like he found the general to be an idiot or incredibly stupid, then at last nodded slowly in a very condescending way, again like he was talking to a small child. "Uh. Yeah." He glared in irritation, folding his arms in blatant annoyance and exasperation. "Yeah, I do. Because it was. Because I'm not an idiot like you, and I'm not going to go wander around in the rain for hours like it's a fun thing to do. Because getting lost is just a thing that happens and I don't know why you suddenly can't just buy that. Sorry we can't all be as wonderful as you, General; I guess you've never gotten lost in your life before, but yeah, that's a thing that happens, and I'm _soooo_ sorry for not realizing in advance you were going to have a little freak attack over it. Yeah. Super sorry for that one. I'll just make sure to let you know in advance next time I can't find my way back."

The apology maybe would've carried a tiny bit more worth, if Ed hadn't rolled his eyes and had his words dripping with so much sarcasm Roy could nearly taste it.

He sighed again.

_He really doesn't know, does he._

"Ed," he said quietly, and this time, made his glare dangerous enough that the brat finally knew to shut up.

Roy took a deep breath, glared right back down at the stubborn little alchemist, and began.

"When I called in to tell Major Hawkeye I'd be late today, she had some rather interesting news for me." He paused, waiting to see if Ed got it yet. He did not. "Apparently, I've got a brand new vandalism case on my desk, one that has the command council up in arms and that they want solved as soon as possible. It seems that somebody thought it a wonderful idea to destroy the Bradley statue in Central Park."

And finally, Ed's stubborn glare withered. For the first time since the brat had stepped in through that door, dripping and smug and unrepentant, he looked almost guilty. Almost.

Except Roy was nowhere near done.

"Strange thing, really..." he went on casually, tilting his head. This time, Ed did not have the stupidity- or, sheer stubbornness, perhaps- to meet his eyes still, and suddenly he found the kid looking at the floor. "Pretty obviously done by a very good alchemist, since no one saw or heard anything. Just, one night, there's Bradley, and the next morning, there is this new... _monstrosity._ The Amestris dragon, terrorizing over the entire park. And on its base was written... what was it... oh, yes." He glared even harder. " _For the people. Fuck the king."_

Ed held very still.

Roy folded his arms and waited.

"...Well," he said at last, and all the anger from before was completely smothered now, his voice carefully controlled in one of the worst lies he had ever heard. "Sounds like whoever that was had good taste, then. Wish I were them."

Roy sighed despairingly.

"Before you make this any worse for yourself," he went on quietly, "you should know that that particular dragon design you used is a little out of date. That was our flag seven years ago, Edward. Parliament voted to have it changed after Bradley's death."

Ed blinked.

For the first time, there was a flash of guilty realization flickered across his face, and finally, _finally,_ the smug assurance of no wrongdoing faded from his face, and his eyes darkened with something close to regret.

"Yes," Roy said, still watching him closely. Ed wasn't even meeting his eye now. "Anti-military sentiments were at an all time high back then, and they felt having our flag showcase a dragon looking eager to eat anything that challenged him wasn't the best way to combat that. It's still a dragon, but not the one you used." He paused, shaking his head at the suddenly withdrawn alchemist. Maybe he would've felt a little more sympathetic to see him look like that if he wasn't still so _pissed off._ "Really, Ed..." and, all right, now _he_ was the one who sounded smug, almost taunting him in his fed up, exhausted anger, but today, he just _didn't care._ "You've got the government more confused than angry, and the people more amused than inspired. No one has any idea why you'd tear down Bradley's statue but resurrect the symbol for his regime at the same time. I've already been ordered to find out why as soon as possible. Leading theory is just that you're a crazy terrorist. I told Hawkeye I doubted it was a terrorist- but I was still pretty sure it was the work of a crazy alchemist. Looks like I wasn't wrong."

Ed stared at his feet, hair dripping right into his eyes, and said nothing.

Damn it. This was going nowhere, and fast. Roy pushed off the wall, starting to pace again just for something to do with the nervous energy and anger still coursing through him. He knew he _should_ try and be calmer, because basically taunting Ed like this wasn't really going to get him anywhere. But waking up this morning feeling so exhausted, drained, and worthless, then finding Ed was gone, and then, getting _that_ phone call... he just didn't have it in him today to be what Ed needed from him. As selfish as it was, he _didn't._ "I really don't have any idea what the hell you thought you were doing," he groaned, again more for his own selfish benefit than to actually get something of worth out of the abruptly silent alchemist. "But before you try to justify it again, try to remember that now I have to lead a fake investigation while somehow hiding the fact that I've got the culprit _living in my house._ And the fact that you nearly had me scared to death, going missing like that, all so you could tear down some ancient monument in this- this juvenile, immature _stunt-"_

"It wasn't a _stunt,"_ Ed spat suddenly, but his shoulders were hunched and he was glaring anywhere but at him. "And don't talk to me like I'm a kid!"

"Then, maybe don't act like one, Ed."

Ed jerked violently, actually taking a step forwards like he wanted to push past him before realizing that there was just nowhere for him to go. His fists clenched by his side and he seemed suddenly desperate to be anywhere besides here. "You-" he gasped, but it was patently clear Ed had lost all control here and was just throwing out whatever he could think of to dodge away from the truth. "I mean- well, you fucking assassinated the guy! I don't- I don't know where you're getting off, being so sentimental about his damn-"

" _Yes,_ I killed him. I didn't hit the streets afterwards to blow random statues up just because I didn't like them. Because it would be counterproductive, and dangerous, and pointless, and juvenile, and _dumb._ Ed, seriously- of all the stupid things... what were you _thinking?!"_

Once again, Ed stiffened. His eyes, still averted, darkened, and his fists, still clenched by his sides, shook. He shifted on the spot, trembling, and turned his gaze even more away.

Then, he actually did shove past him, and move straight for the door.

"Nothing, apparently," he snarled, and threw it open to step straight out into the rain. "Because I guess I never fucking think anything through anymore."

"Ed-"

" _Don't_ follow me," Ed snapped, and this time, he was the one to slam the door shut, leaving Roy alone behind him.


	17. Q is for Quiescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to srcstctruth over on ff.net for providing me with the German for this chapter :)

Fucking Mustang.

Fucking Roy bastard Mustang.

 _Everything_ was _his fault._

Ed stomped down the street, head down against the slowly growing storm and pouring rain, and he seethed.

Like the bastard knew anything in the first place. Just where did he get off yelling at him like that? A fucking statue, and apparently, Roy cared about the stupid statue more than anything else until now, because _this_ was what had broken the camel's back and finally gotten him to lose his temper.

Stupid fucking statue.

Stupid fucking _Roy._

Stupid fucking everything, really, by this point, because it had taken Ed all of ten minutes outside getting rained on to cool off enough to realize he was being stupid, and should've just continued being mad at Roy from _inside,_ instead of stomping out like a child.

Except it was too late for that, and now his stubbornness and pride prevented him from conceding that defeat and just going back.

What made everything even worse was that Ed didn't even really remember _why_ Roy had pissed him off so much, just that he had. Thinking back on it now, there really wasn't an excuse for anything. Sure, it had been pretty annoying when the bastard had insinuated he'd actually planned this whole disastrous thing- he _wasn't_ that stupid- but it wasn't like he'd never been accused of worse.

Maybe it was just the fact that after all these years, the bastard could _still_ provoke him just by existing and being himself, and everything had just gotten ridiculously out of hand for no reason and now here Ed was, seething in the rain, and too stubborn to back inside.

He groaned.

Once again. If Al could've been here to see him now, he would've been completely disappointed, and that knowledge stung and sunk into his stomach like a leaden ball of awful guilt worse than anything else.

Ed veered away from Roy's street, running as fast as he could just to get the hell away from there. Granted, with his leg, it wasn't really that fast- but it didn't matter. So what? As long as he just wasn't there dealing with it anymore-

With a frustrated growl, Ed cut back through to the same damn park that had started it all. He glared around at it from beneath his hood, shuddering under the cold rain even as he stuck to keeping under the trees as much as he could, telling himself he had no choice but to find somewhere as dry as possible with his limbs. The fact that, technically, as dry as possible was Roy's place, was not relevant. He wasn't going back there right now. Not when he still felt like this. Roy would just have to deal with worrying about him, because right now, Ed was too angry to face him-

Even if he was starting to realize he was angry for no fucking good reason.

Ed sighed, walking on for a little bit more before just caving. Giving in to the cold and the rain and his own exhaustion, he just headed for the nearest bench that was somewhat shielded from the wind and the rain, gathering up his coat around him to protect him as best as he could. But the bench was already wet, his clothes were already soaked, and even the leaves above him were starting to drip... even as he jumped up stiffly to wrap his arms and legs around himself and huddle as tightly as he could, it accomplished barely nothing to drive away the cold and the rain.

Somehow, he was actually sure he was shivering even worse now.

Ed groaned again, dropping his face to press it lightly against his knee. His cold face, and his soaking wet knee.

Roy was going to kill him for this.

_And you already know that Al would, too, Ed._

He sighed.

Yeah. He knew that.

That was pretty much a constant fact of his life, nowadays. Al would be disappointed with him, and Roy- though he'd refuse to ever admit it- was getting fed up with him. That was just how it was. Fed up with him, and his constant inability to ever just get it together and move on.

He supposed it wasn't fair to expect anything more than that, after all.

What was his fucking _problem,_ anyway? Curling even tighter around himself, Ed shifted just enough to glance further up the path, back to where the recently transmuted dragon perched, glaring down at the entire park. He could just make out crime scene tape and military officers in the mist, and something in his stomach, one of the few remaining pieces of him that had still known stubbornness and pride, just sank down and _broke,_ just like that.

Not even an hour ago, he'd looked up at the dragon with a fierce grin, and liked it.

He actually _had_ been proud of it.

Now, knowing Roy had told him, it felt like barely more than a juvenile, stupid stunt. And _he_ felt stupid and juvenile because of it.

It sounded just like something he would do, too. He fucked everything up; that was just what he _did,_ he touched shit and completely _ruined_ it- why had he thought this would be any different? Why had he thought he'd be able to actually do something good? Every time that he tried, he just ended up hurting people. That was his talent. That was what he was best at. _Trying_ to manage something good, trying to do the right thing, always _trying_ his hardest- and in the end, managing nothing more than hurting the people he cared about it with it.

For the longest time, that had only been Al.

Now...

Ed smiled bitterly, because smiling was better than the alternative, and tried very hard not to choke on the growing lump in his throat.

Now, he couldn't do that anymore, because the last time try he'd tried to do the right thing, he'd ended up not just hurting Al, but killing him.

A small sob choked its way past his defenses, and Ed just gave up trying to manage a weak smile and hid his face back in his legs instead.

Ed didn't know how long he sat there like that, shivering and just letting himself get more wet by the second and utterly _miserable._ He was shielded enough from the rain that it wasn't going to totally ruin his arm and leg, and beyond that, he just didn't know, or care. It was pretty obvious, by now, that Roy had heeded his words, and was not looking for him. And in his opinion, _good._ Roy _shouldn't_ look for him. Roy would probably be better off if he just sat out in this damn storm until he drowned.

Once again, he was sure Roy wouldn't say that much aloud. Roy tended not to do that- he'd poke fun, and tease, and needle, and be an overall, general asshole, but when it came to actual brutal, honest truth of the matter, he'd try not to say it. That wasn't something he'd used to do. _Before_ , the bastard _had_ been a fucking honest prick. He'd been honest to the point that it had hurt, and Ed had appreciated it, because it had meant someone was _finally_ looking at him and treating him like an actual, capable person- not just the child they saw.

He laughed weakly.

Figured... back when he'd been a stubborn thirteen year old brat? Roy had believed in him then more than he did now.

Well, it wasn't as if Ed could blame him.

He was pretty sure he preferred everything about how he'd been before, too.

At last, _finally,_ the rain started to lighten up. Ed only realized it when he suddenly heard how much quieter it had gotten; by this point, he was so completely soaked he'd barely even felt the rain continuing to drop on his head. He felt like a soggy, shivering mess, and probably looked like one too, but one glance up at the overcast- but no longer dripping- sky, and somehow, he just knew he couldn't stay out here that much longer. Roy had probably worried himself to death, by this point, and as much as Ed struggled with that small part of him that just didn't want to move from this bench until he died, he knew he had to. Like everything else in his life now, it was just something he had to force himself to do, because it was the only choice he had.

Al wouldn't have wanted him to stagnate like this, and so he'd get himself up, and just keep doing what Al would've wanted.

No matter how fucking awful he was with it and how _exhausted_ he was trying.

Slowly, Ed unfolded himself, wincing with the new and brutal pain in his shoulder and thigh. His arm and leg had never been agreeable to getting wet, but somehow, the pain bothered him more than usual as he slowly and unsteadily wrenched himself upright, struggling to balance on the slick path. Typical. Typical for fucking Edward Elric. Every other normal person could brush off the rain with a laugh or a miserable sneeze or two, and yet here he was, trembling and barely able to even walk because of it. _Typical_. The rest of the world picked up their feet and moved on because it was normal, because it was easy, because it was the _right_ thing to do, and here he was, still stuck behind them all, because he was somehow made wrong and had never quite figured out how to do it for himself.

He sighed again.

He just felt hollow. He'd been exhausted and skittish this morning, angry and shaking when he'd left Roy's a few hours ago- yet, now...

Just hollow.

Hollow, and empty, and _wrong._

Ed sent another uncertain glance back up the path to the destroyed statue. This time, his insides clenched with shame and the pathetic feeling of incompetence when he looked at it, and he almost couldn't stop himself from flinching away. He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to even think about it. It was pathetic. The one time in months he'd actually felt like he was getting back on his feet and _doing something_ again, something Al would've wanted, and-

Roy's words rang in his ears again.

Tearing down Bradley's statue, and throwing up the symbol of his regime right next to it instead. Accomplishing absolutely _nothing._

_Nice job, Ed._

Something terrible and weak curled up inside him, flooding him with another wave of self-disgust and guilt, and his feet moved another step backwards almost of their own accord. But, then, backwards was just back to Roy's- and everything still sane in him rebelled against it. He didn't want to go back there, either. He didn't want to go back there and be forced to face how he'd managed to fuck this up, _again._ And he _definitely_ didn't want to go back there and face the fact that Roy was worried about him, and had been all day, because once again, it was all his fucking fault, and once again, he'd only managed to hurt the people he cared about, even though it didn't make any fucking sense, because Roy wasn't _supposed_ to worry about him, he wasn't _supposed_ to care about him, he had no reason to, he-

Ed gritted his teeth, nervous guilt washing through him again, and just turned his back on home and limped forwards to the statue instead.

He wasn't really sure what he was doing as he drew closer, a shaking and cold hand tugging almost defensively on his hood to bring it lower over his hair and eyes. By all rights, this would be the stupidest thing he'd done today. There were still military officers all around the statue, and while their attention wasn't on him yet, a surefire way to get it was just to stand there like a creepy loner on this side of the crime scene tape. But somehow, Ed couldn't stop himself as he drew closer, still shivering and tugging his coat around him as tight as possible, and he couldn't stop himself from drifting closer to some of the other civilians that had started to head over in interest now that the rain had stopped, and for the first time, Ed actually looked back at the disaster he had caused.

And not even three seconds later, he froze.

Hawkeye and Havoc.

It was Hawkeye and Havoc.

An instant thrill of fear shot through him, and in that instant, it suddenly took all of Ed's self control not to turn tail and run as fast as possible.

It _was_ Hawkeye and Havoc, he definitely recognized them among the other officers- but they were a good distance away, and paying zero attention to him. And why would they be? They had no reason to look at him, no reason to even suspect he was there- and _they_ definitely wouldn't recognize _him_ , he realized, even as he stumbled nervously behind some of the other congregating civilians, trying to hide himself more. He was just a guy in a hood. Drowned in the rain like everyone else here. There was nothing distinctive about him. He was fine. It was okay. It was _safe._

When he'd finally managed to get himself over the shock of seeing them, Ed found himself feeling like a bit of an idiot. He shouldn't have been so surprised to see them here. After all, Roy had already told him this morning that this was his case, and that the military had it at high priority. Who had he been _expecting_ to see here, random privates? Of course he'd see the bastard's staff!

But they still couldn't see him, and Ed, once again unable to stop himself, found him stumbling forwards as if drawn behind an inexorable force to be near what had used to be his life.

"...rather cut and dry," Havoc was saying quietly, and gave a blasé gesture to the statue. "Of course the top brass'll be concerned, but unless we start seeing other vandalism cases like it, this could just be the work of a couple of drunk idiots. I don't think we should be too worried."

"Neither do I." Hawkeye shielded her face as she looked up at the statue too, frowning at it. "I'm still going to call the general and fill him in when we get back to HQ, though. Just because it shouldn't be a priority doesn't mean the command council will just let this go until we find the culprit."

Havoc shrugged, frowning himself. "I'll probably congratulate him when we do. Dragons are better than Bradley any day of the week, in my book. As far as I'm concerned, he did us all a favor." He paused, looking deceptively at ease, then glanced to Hawkeye out of the corner of his eye. "...So, you're going to check on Mustang, then," he said quietly, his voice even lower than before.

Hawkeye stiffened a little, and for the first time, Ed glanced around at all the other officers there. No Roy. A few others that he recognized, but no sign of Roy at all. The small ball of guilt in his chest clenched even tighter. "Yes," the major said softly, her voice guarded. "He sent another message a little while ago. Apparently, he's taking a personal day. It seems something just... came up."

She didn't sound wholly convinced, however, and Havoc didn't even look it. Havoc's frown deepened as he turned back to her, suspicion and worry in equal parts glinting in his eyes. "Should we be...?"

"Worried? ...I don't think so, actually." She paused, still not looking at him and continuing to frown at the statue instead, her face half shrouded from them by the drizzle. But she shook her head, and to Havoc's concern still only seemed guardedly cautious and quiet, her eyes calm. "The rain makes his leg hurt. He might just be taking it easy today since, let's be honest, he cares even less about finding who destroyed the statue than we do."

Havoc made a sour face, folding his arms gruffly. "Damn Fuhrer Bradley. It's ridiculous they even have statues of him up still in the first place. Should've put Mustang up in his place, for what he did..."

Hawkeye looked at him sharply, a silent warning that even alluding to the fact that Roy had killed their last Fuhrer in public was a _bad idea,_ but the man didn't seem all that regretful about it. His grimace did fade after a moment, though, worry overtaking it again as he turned fully back towards Hawkeye. "But shouldn't we still check up on him? I mean..." He coughed uncomfortably. "You know that these past few months, that... well... there's been something... _wrong_ with him. Something's not been right with him, Hawkeye. He's... not been okay. ...I'm still a little worried about him..."

Ed winced again. Once more, his numb feet carried him a tiny step backwards.

His fault.

It was all his fucking _fault._

Hawkeye, however, smiled.

"Haven't you noticed, Havoc?" she asked quietly. "He's been doing better, now. For the past few weeks, actually. He's... he's actually been a lot better."

Havoc gave a startled blink. "What?"

Again, Hawkeye shrugged a little, still watching him, still smiling faintly. "I know he'd been getting worse for a long time, but he actually hasn't been for a while now. Haven't you noticed?" she asked again. "This is the most energetic and motivated he's been in a while, actually. Just look at him, Havoc... he's happier now. ...I think, happier than he's been for a long time. I don't just mean the past several months, either. I... I think it's the best I've seen him in years. Since before he went up north, even. Since..."

She trailed off uncomfortably, her own smile slipping away, and the surprised look in Havoc's eyes fell, too, cooling into a look of quiet grief and old pain. "Since Ed," he filled in quietly, and said nothing more.

Ed moved away another step, guilt curling up inside him like a slumbering, poisonous beast, and started very hard at the ground.

Suddenly just as uncomfortable as Havoc and Hawkeye, or perhaps even more so, Ed roughly turned his back again, and walked away as fast as he could without arousing suspicion.

He couldn't listen to this anymore.

He dragged himself on only as far as he had to before at last stumbling to a halt, limping to rest against a tree and breathing hard, his heart pounding. No. _What?_ Just- _no._ It didn't work. It didn't make sense. Roy was _happier_ now, with him here? That was impossible. After all the things he'd done, after how much he'd done wrong- never mind Roy; what person in their right mind would be happier like this? Ed was fucking up at every turn and, as far as he could tell, had pretty much only succeeded at dragging Roy down with him. What, was Hawkeye the crazy one here? Was _she_ insane? Because there was absolutely no reason why Roy would actually be better off with him here.

Just like with Al, all he'd managed to do was fuck things up, and ruin other people's lives. He'd not done one single good thing for Roy, or anybody else, since making it back home. That was just a fact. Indisputable fact. All he'd done was cause trouble at every turn. Just like today- for god's sake, even _today_ proved how much of a giant fuck-up he was to everyone around him. He'd felt good about himself for one second, and look at how that had turned up. Just this morning, Roy had been worried, angry, annoyed, frustrated-

In what fucking universe could Hawkeye ever say that Roy was better off now than he was before?

Ed limped away as fast as he could manage it, heart still pounding in his ears and hands shaking by his sides. As much as he didn't want to go back home to Roy's, he _didn't_ want to stay here and listen to that any longer. He couldn't just stand there and hear it. It wasn't right, it didn't make any sense, it was impossible, and-

And she'd had no reason to lie.

Ed swallowed tightly, hands still trembling by his sides, and limped to a stop again.

Hawkeye hadn't had any reason to lie. She hadn't known he was listening. All she'd done was state the truth- or, at least, what she saw as the truth.

And to Hawkeye and the rest of the bastard general's friends, it seemed that they thought he was doing better.

The only possible reason for that could be him.

Ed paused. He lowered his eyes to the ground again, still shivering, then turned his gaze back up the path again- this time, away from the statue, and back towards home.

No. It wasn't right. She was just... just _wrong._ She had to be. All he'd done since getting back home was mess things up. Intentionally at first, but even now, now that he was _trying_ to be better, he simply _wasn't._ He was a walking mess and a drain on everyone around him and that was a _fact._ There was no reason for him to have been help to Roy at all...

Except for Hawkeye standing there, and saying he had been.

And...

And except for Roy standing there, and telling him the same.

It was one thing for Roy to not just get rid of him at the first opportunity. Or the second opportunity, or any of the other chances that had presented themselves. That didn't mean anything. Just because Roy didn't forcibly get rid of him didn't mean the general actually wanted him there.

But Roy himself had said that he _wanted_ Ed here with him. More than once, he'd said that.

Even though it didn't make any sense to Ed why anyone would still even want him around, when his only ability seemed to just be hurting everyone that he cared about- it did, for some reason, make sense to _Roy._

Ed sighed again, shivering even harder in the wind.

And right now, here he was, still just standing out in the wet and the cold for pretty much no reason except that he was stubborn... and, knowing that he was worrying Roy.

Another thing that seemed to be pretty much one of his only talents, nowadays.

The guilt that still lived inside him grew a little bigger, and a wash of miserable self-loathing flooded through him again.

Once again, here he was. Hurting people just through his own stubborn pride.

He may not have been capable of feeling better himself, but he at least could manage to stop doing this.

Ed closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, and with a heavy sigh and an even heavier reluctance weighing down on him from head to toe, forced himself his numb legs to turn and start to, once again, carry himself back home.

This time, it wasn't his own curiosity that stopped him.

This time, it was his own weight as he thudded to the ground, slammed onto his back from the blow to the face, and his own shout of pain, echoing desolately around him on the deserted street.

* * *

Once again, when he finally heard the noise on his doorstep that meant Ed was home, Roy was waiting for it.

Once again, he had spent the entire time he'd been waiting for Ed watching the clock, and listening to the rain pound away outside.

It had been four hours since Ed had left the second time. It had been raining hard for at least three of them, and Roy had spent a good portion of that time in an ever escalating panic.

It was one thing for Ed to be outside in broad daylight, but in a storm like this, there was a very good chance the water could incapacitate his new limbs and leave him _stranded._ What if that was the reason for the delay? What if Ed hadn't been just mad at him, what if he actually couldn't come back now? What if he was stuck out there in the rain, and Roy was the only one who knew it? What if, in his attempt to give Ed some space since it was _clearly_ something that he wanted and needed, he'd screwed him over and now Ed was stuck out there, hiding and immobile? Or what if he'd actually been seen and arrested? Or what if he'd gotten in a fight, or an accident, or somehow hurt, and was lying in a hospital somewhere unconscious? Or what if-

What if-

_What if..._

Needless to say, when he finally heard the noise outside that could only mean Ed, Roy was too relieved to be angry with him any longer.

Once again, in an almost disturbing and upsetting parallel to this morning, Roy threw himself to the door before Ed could even make it inside, throwing it open and breathing out a gasp of relief through tightly clenched teeth to see the tiny, dripping figure shivering on his doorstep. Without waiting for so much as a word of explanation, Roy grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him inside, again, just like this morning, but this time, the words of rebuke that had been hot on his tongue were lost to the frantic relief that he knew Ed would tell him was misplaced, and he knew Ed would _hate,_ but he just didn't care.

"Thank god," he gasped roughly, tugging Ed closer and pushing the door shut behind him in the same motion. Ed didn't even look at him, drenched and shivering violently, hugging himself as he dripped onto the floor, but even through the multiple, soaked layers, Roy could feel how cold he was and nearly flinched. The last remnants of anger were instantly beaten back by panicked concern, sweeping through him in a wave of something close to fear. "Ed, god, come here- you're freezing-"

Ed tried to say something through chattering teeth, but Roy just ignored it, too busy trying to get Ed to sit down so he could get a look at him. Words could come later- in fact, an argument was almost _guaranteed_ to come later- but he just didn't have the fortitude for that right now. All that mattered was that Ed was here, and Ed was safe.

He pulled the jacket off first, the thing barely more than a soaked, ruined, dripping rag by this point, and pushed at Ed's cold face with his hand, trying to get him to meet his eye so he could get a better look at him.

When he finally actually could see Ed's face again, though, unobstructed save for the dripping bangs of his messy hair, Roy gasped.

His face was covered in scratches. Some shallow and not very worrisome; a few others, including one perilously close to his eye, long and still bleeding, trails of scarlet mixing down his slick, almost white skin to turn pink in the water on his cheeks. One even curved over his jaw to almost reach his _throat._ There were too many to count and one cheek, dirty liked Ed had taken a fall and broken it with his face, was already swelling, turning red and angry in the very beginnings of a nasty bruise.

Roy gaped, frozen with shock.

After several slow, motionless moments, Ed coughed uncomfortably, still shivering, still staring away, still looking almost... guilty. "...I'm okay," he mumbled weakly, past chattering teeth. "It's worse than it looks. I'm really fine. I promise."

"...Fine?" Roy shook his head slowly, reaching again forward with a trembling hand. He wasn't as panicked any more- Ed didn't seem like he was in any danger, at least- but was no less shocked and horrified as he gently pushed at his face again, turning it so he could see a few more of the scratches extending back to his ear. "Ed, you..."

What the hell had _happened?_

Ed coughed again, then gave a particularly violent shudder from the chill that was almost radiating from his cold skin. He pulled his legs up a little more, trembling, and continued to look away.

With a great effort, Roy wrenched himself away, trying to calm the protective, angry urge growing in his chest to wrench the truth out of him. Later. _Later._ There'd be time for that later. Right now, no matter what had happened to Ed, he just had to focus on getting him warm.

Ed wouldn't let go of his wet jacket for some reason, resisting when Roy tried to pull it off, so Roy just left it alone, puddled around his waist as he worked the shirt off instead. His arm didn't seem to be too bad off, and Ed himself was slowly toeing off his shoes, so his leg had to have at least some motion, as well. Sighing in relief, Roy tossed the shirt away with a wet _plop_ to be dealt with later as he threw a blanket around Ed's shoulders, wrapping it up close to his chin before going for his gloves. The fireplace was usually mostly for show; Roy hated using it, far preferring the new innovation of electric heating- but fire would work faster, and right now, that was just all he had time to care about. He sent a few sparks towards it, watching carefully as they exploded into roaring blaze that almost instantly warmed his own chilled hands, then dropped back down to sit beside Ed with a satisfied sigh.

"You idiot, you're going to get yourself pneumonia, you know that?" he muttered darkly, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. God, he was _freezing._ "Don't even think about getting up until you've stopped shivering. You can argue with me later, Ed."

Ed didn't say anything, just continued to shake next to him, and when he realized resistance was not coming, Roy shut his eyes, anxious panic filtering out of him with an exhausted sigh.

He squeezed Ed a little tighter, this time not because of the cold, and swallowed back another relieved breath.

Thank god he was okay.

Finally, after a minute, he felt Ed move a little under his arms, shifting a tiny bit to turn his scratched face in his direction. "'S not h-how pneoumonia w-works, bastard," he grumbled through chattering teeth.

Roy swallowed another strained, exhausted laugh. "Shut up," he returned quietly, and tightened his arms around him again.

Ed went quiet again, but he could feel the kid was at least a little bit more relaxed. He didn't feel as cold, either, the combined efforts of the fire, the blankets, and Roy's own body heat, and thankfully, the state of chilled shock he'd seemed to be in when arriving was receding as well. It must've mostly been from the temperature, he thought with relief, then shifted a little, trying to move so Ed was dripping onto his sleeves instead of his bare hands.

Once again, Ed didn't say anything for a while, but this time, Roy could feel the angry, stubborn aura from before, the first time Ed had stumbled in shivering and wet and without an explanation, was gone. Whatever had happened out there, Ed at least hadn't come back looking to argue with him this time, and that could only be a good thing.

"...I'm sorry," Ed murmured abruptly, head down. He shifted a little again, curling up like he was trying to ward against the cold. "For the s-statue, I mean. I didn't... it... really wasn't on p-purpose."

Roy sighed heavily, averting his own gaze. Ed was still thinking about _that?_ After- whatever the hell had happened to him out there to get his face looking like that? "...It's not important right now," he said at last. He didn't really believe for a second it had been an accident, but given how angrily Ed had reacted last time they'd attempted that discussion, he just didn't want to start it again now. "We can talk about it later." Besides, if the first thing Ed was saying to him was that he was _sorry_ for it, he was pretty sure the kid already felt bad enough about it, and that he'd spent at least good portion of these past few hours already beating himself over it. The last thing he would need was Roy adding onto that right now.

Ed, however, shook his head, stubborn even though he wasn't looking at him. "No. I need to say this." He paused, still shivering a little, then coughed and lowered his head, letting his long hair hide his eyes. "It _wasn't_ on purpose. I j-just... I... I actually was lost. Like I told you. I'd... I'd had a nightmare, okay, and I went outside l-last night, and... guess I just stayed out for l-longer than I'd realized. I really did get lost... and I d-didn't go looking for the stupid thing. It was just _there._ And... and I guess I just didn't think of how much trouble it'd cause for you, either. It was... I... seeing it there..."

He broke off for a moment, voice trembling. He shook his head slowly, cold and quietly uncertain, like he didn't know or even really _want_ to say this, but this time, Roy kept quiet. He'd had enough experience with Ed like this now that he knew there wasn't any sense stopping him. Ed was talking for a reason, felt like he should say this for a reason, whatever it was- so the best thing for him was just to let it happen.

"...It didn't feel right," Ed sighed at last, voice heavy. "Just... too much like Germany. I didn't like it. And... I..." He shivered again- except, this time, it didn't feel like a response to the cold.

"...Al wouldn't have liked it," he mumbled, reluctant and small- and, just like that, that was all Roy needed for it to make sense.

If there had ever been anything to make Ed lose his head and act without thinking, it was Al.

Because Ed was naturally impulsive and reckless and, sometimes, even a bit of an idiot... but when Al was concerned, all bets were off.

Besides, he reflected darkly, after what Ed had seen in Germany- well, what did he know? Maybe the statue had been upsetting enough for Ed, whatever it reminded him of, that he'd felt like he had to get rid of it for his own peace of mind, too.

"...it's okay," he said quietly at last, choosing his words very carefully. "I overreacted, too." He glanced down worriedly, frowning at the sight of the scratches on Ed's still wet, flushed face. "You know that I don't really care about the damn statue, Ed. I was just worried you'd done something so dangerous. You could've gotten caught... I'm sorry." He laughed weakly, and when Ed didn't resist, carefully hugged him a little closer to his side. "If it's not already become apparent to you, I tend to worry too much. I know that you can take care of yourself, Ed, but can you at least understand that that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about you?" _Can you just... please... stop terrifying me like this?_

_I've had enough of that already._

Ed sighed, dropping his head even further down. "I know," he said quietly, and somehow, his voice sounded even guiltier than he suddenly looked. "I know that. ...I'm sorry. I know I've really not done anything but make things harder for you, and... I am sorry for that. Really." He hesitated, then just slumped, glancing away with a dejected sigh. "That's pretty much what _I_ do, if you hadn't noticed. Fuck up everything for everyone around me. I'm sorry. ...I really don't mean to."

That... hadn't been exactly what he was going for.

"Well," Roy sighed after a long moment, frowning. This would have to be done carefully. "I disagree. ...though, the same could also be said for me, you know."

Ed finally stiffened a little, lifting his head up enough to frown in his direction, eyes dark past his still dripping hair. "No, it can't," he snapped angrily back. "I mean, sure, you're an asshole, and you're not perfect, but you've done plenty of good things. There's me, for one. Any sane person would've gotten rid of me months ago- but here you are, still tolerating me and my... my bullshit." He glared fiercely, shrugging enough to dislodge Roy's grip a little and sit up straighter and meet his eye in a direct, fiery challenge. "Then, look at what _I've_ done. Find something good in there! Find something good that _I've_ managed to do!"

Roy bit back a smile. Even after all this years, Ed was still so easy to bait and manipulate right where he wanted him. He supposed, even after everything, he'd managed to hang on with his talent for wordplay after all.

"Well, there's me," he murmured pointedly. "You've helped me."

This time, when Ed flushed, stiffening again, then suddenly jerked away, ducking his head with an embarrassed sounding huff, it didn't end in another apology or rebuke- and, sighing fondly, Roy reached around to ruffle his hopelessly wet hair, knowing that that was the best he could hope for.

Then, as Roy was looking down at Ed, still holding him and waiting for him to stop shivering completely, letting the kid sit there in silence now, he saw it.

A tiny lump underneath his coat, still puddled in his lap. A tiny lump that _moved._

Roy blinked.

He looked carefully. Ed's left hand, hiding under his blanket. His right hand, resting on top of his coat. Nothing capable of making that lump should've been there.

The lump twitched again.

"...Um..." he started uncertainly, staring at the thing and completely at a loss for what he was supposed to be feeling. "Ed?" He waited, still staring downwards, and when he felt Ed shift a little in confusion next to him, pointed down at it. "I'm afraid that you might have brought home a friend."

To his surprise, however, Ed was _not_ surprised.

"What?" The kid blinked, then, bewilderingly, he grinned. "Oh, Right. Ah... h-hah... yeah. Right..." He shifted again, seeming nervous for some reason. "Right. This guy." And, without any further ado, he gingerly lifted his coat up and away.

Roy blinked again.

There was a cat.

A tiny, wet, miserable looking wet cat.

Sitting on Ed's lap.

There was a cat.

"Um," he said again, quite intelligently.

Ed managed another weak grin, squirming around in his suddenly slack arms so he could reach down carefully with his fake arm- an arm, he suddenly realized, that bore many tiny scratches along the hand and wrist, tiny scratches just like the ones on his face. It was the cat, Roy realized. That wet, shaking _thing_ on his lap was the one who had scratched Ed's face.

Ed, however, did not seem to care about that as he gingerly held his hand out, then just laughed weakly when the cat batted a claw out angrily, trying to scratch him away. "Yeah," Ed said again, glancing back up at him. "I found this guy when I was on my way back here. Or actually, he found me. I think I accidentally ran into his home and got myself attacked for it." He gestured at his scratched face with another weak grin, then looked back down at the wet, unhappy cat.

Roy stared vacantly. "You... were attacked by a street cat," he mumbled, then looked back down at the creature himself. When he saw it was still rather interested in scratching or, perhaps, devouring Ed's wooden hand, he pushed himself back an inch, not at all interested in the kitten finding out he was softer and easier to bite than Ed. "That's what happened to your face."

Ed grinned again. "Yes. ...Once again, it was entirely an accident. I swear."

"...Right." Roy stared down at the cat, then back at Ed, feeling as if he was missing some very important step in logic here. "And you then decided to bring the feral street urchin home with you."

Ed scowled at him, then pushed his hand a little closer to the small, wet cat, watching curiously as it nudged him. "It is not a feral street urchin! It was defending itself, okay? Besides, it was raining, and look at him- he obviously doesn't have any owner. It looks like he hasn't eaten in days." He scratched a thumb at the cat's head, beaming when this time, the action didn't result in a bite. "I couldn't just leave him out there. Look at him; he was drowning! Besides, it's not like he meant to attack me."

"That..." Roy inched himself further away again. "That _thing_ has been clawing at you this entire time. It thinks you're dinner. I think it meant exactly what it did." He stared disbelievingly at Ed's blissful grin as he the kid tended to the strange, feral kitten. _God,_ he hated cats. "Since when did you turn into a cat person, anyway?"

Ed didn't look up at him, still distracted by the kitten- but his strange smile, however, fell a little. It morphed into something almost bittersweet, and he swallowed, rubbing at the cat again. "...Since I had one," he mumbled, subdued. "In Germany."

...Ah.

Ed was quiet for a few moments, shoulders still slumped. "I guess it was Al's cat, technically. He's the one who adopted it," he sighed finally, gaze averted. The kitten gave a quiet little mewl. "Before the war, I mean. He always had wanted a cat, you know that, and... well, he finally got the chance." He hesitated, some of his earlier, genuine smile from before returning. "He named him _Herr Schnufflpuffl."_

Roy smiled after a moment, watching the quiet, wistful nostalgia look drift over Ed's face. "Sounds original," he offered softly.

Ed, however, suddenly shot him yet another dark look, this one half incredulity, half deadpan. "That means Lord Fluffyfluff."

A startled laugh, barely transformed into a cough, rose in his throat; Roy bit his lip to stop himself from smiling again, glancing between Ed's dark glare and the wet, shivering cat. "Oh, dear," he muttered weakly- then inched away yet again, when the kitten sent him a suspicious look. "Pardon me, then. That sounds dreadfully unoriginal."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Ed grumbled, though he was grinning weakly again as he looked back down at the cat. He gave it another gentle scratch. "...like I said, we got him before the war, when we still had pretty good jobs and the whole country hadn't turned to shit yet. And we did manage to keep him, for a while. ...but... well..." He trailed off, and his small, already weak smile went with it, trembling until it broke into that same sorrowful, guilty look that was beginning to look more at home on his face than anything else. "It... broke Al's heart to do it. But we just didn't have the money, after the war kicked off. We were barely keeping ourselves afloat, you know- and pretty much everyone was just as bad off as us. And then there was all the Jews we were trying to smuggle out- it's not like Schnuffl cost that much, but we just didn't have _anything_ to spare. We were at the point that we were burning our shoes to keep warm in winter. We were just _broke,_ and... and..."

"...Oh," Roy realized, his eye widening. He swallowed, looking down at the small kitten again, then back to the soft look of strangled guilt on his face. Now, he understood it. "You had to let him go."

Ed nodded weakly, not looking at him, face still set in that cold cast of guilt. "Y-yeah." He patted at the cat again, who seemed to finally be understanding that Ed wasn't going to hurt him and tolerated the petting, if with another wary, suspicious look. "...it was... was probably for the b-best, anyway. We gave him to one of the families we were hiding, asked him to pass Schnuffl on to the next home they made it to. Worst case scenario, he just ended up on the streets in the next city- but if he'd stayed with us, he definitely would've died. It was the right thing to do."

It didn't sound like Ed was all that happy about it, though.

After several moments, though, the kid suddenly swallowed, shuddering as he wiped that look of old memory and sorrow on his face to soften into yet another apology as he glanced up at him, uncertain and wary. Roy didn't have to know him as well as he did to see the sorrow still lurking there, miserably and exhausted, just under the surface. "I'm sorry," Ed said quietly. "I know you don't like cats. I... I guess I just really wasn't thinking when I picked him up... he just reminded me of Schnuffl. Al found him when it was raining, too." He patted the kitten again, who was now sniffing at his hand. "I know you don't... we... we don't have to keep him. But can you at least take him to a shelter or something? Or give him to someone?" He hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. "Does Hawkeye still have Hayate? Would she take him? Or- or maybe Mrs. Hughes?"

Roy paused, glancing down at the cat again.

The cat that, so far, hadn't done anything but bite at Ed's hand and glare at them both. Oh, yes, and had attacked Ed's _face._

The poor, wet thing mewled miserably, dripping and shaking in Ed's lap, and butted his head against Ed's palm.

The story about poor, unfortunate Schnuffl, and that just _sad_ look of longing on Ed's face, wasn't helping either.

...Damn it.

"We don't have to do that," he sighed, and for just a moment, closed his eye, already regretting his next words with every fiber of his being. "...We can keep him."

The way Ed just instantly brightened, eyes widening hopefully and smile starting to grow in disbelief, made it worth it.

"W-wait-" he stammered, "wait- really?! But I thought you hated cats!"

"...mmm," he grunted back, frowning down at the demented, probably possessed creature. "Well, I still owe you this one, don't I? After all, I promised you I'd adopt Al's stray if you beat me in the assessment. Which, you did."

Ed stared at him, blinking. "That was like... ten years ago."

"Yes, well, I still owe you it." He carefully started to move himself just a little closer, about to extend the effort to meet the damn thing- then flinched back yet again when his efforts only earned him a startled, angry hiss. "You'll be taking care of it, though."

It wasn't as if he had any other choice. Knowing the parallels Ed had already drawn between this wet, hostile _thing,_ and the kitten his brother had finally managed to bring into their family in Germany, he just did not have the heart to get rid of it. Not knowing this was one small way Ed could remind himself of his brother.

_Just... why couldn't Al have been a dog person..._

Ed's hopeful, still almost disbelieving smile broadened, and he stared between Roy and the kitten for a moment, like he'd never actually thought he'd get to keep it.

Next second, Ed leaned back closer to him, reaching up with his free arm to briefly hug him- and when Ed pressed his face against his arm, Roy could feel his smile fade, softening into something closer to genuine gratitude. "Thank you," he mumbled weakly, voice quietly strangled with emotion, and Roy knew it had been worth it.

He'd just try and have to hold onto this feeling, he reminded himself, whenever the feral creature turned its sights on him, and his softer, _not_ impervious to teeth hands.

"Just one condition," he said after several moments, gently pushing Ed back. He looked down at the wet kitten, and would've gotten closer down to his level if he hadn't feared the reprisal such an action would get him from its claws. "His name shall be Colonel Kitty."

Ed snorted immediately. "Um. No. It won't."

And, shot down. Immediately.

"You can give that name back to Al," Ed went on, glaring, "because I am never dealing with a name like that again. He deserves a _real_ name, not something you stole from Elicia." Ed, completely unafraid- or, possibly just not caring- carefully wrapped his hand around the kitten, slowly lifting him up into the air a little to get a better look at him.

"This is Skullfire," he said at last, and turned his hand around so the cat was facing Roy. "Skullfire, meet Roy. Roy, meet Skullfire."

Skullfire took one look at him, and hissed.

Roy groaned

This was not at all how he had seen his day going.

"Hello, Skullfire," he said to the wet little hellbeast, and raised a hand to wave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my (as of yet, nonexistent...) cat, who will now either be named Hughes, or Schnufflpuffl :)


	18. R is for Redux

"Hawkeye, can I ask you a question?"

Riza glanced up curiously from the stack of assessments on her desk, looking over to where the general was, rather unsurprisingly, not paying his own stack even the slightest attention. He seemed rather enamored with his hands, frowning at his gloves as if they had done him some great personal wrong, and she just sighed, looking back down. "Yes, sir." He'd be the one staying late to finish them; not her.

"When you got Hayate, how exactly did you housetrain him? Please. Be specific."

Again, Riza frowned. "Housetrain Hayate...?" She looked up again, and this time wasn't the only one to glance over at their strange general. "What, you mean like-"

"Not hissing at you for all hours of the night. Not climbing all over you with little sharp claws that hurt. Not, I don't know, trying to murder you just because you happened to walk within five feet of him." He sighed loudly, a sound reeking with melodrama. "You know. Things like that. Behaving like a civilized, domesticated creature instead of a demonspawn from hell."

Riza blinked.

"...Sir?"

And the general, seeming to finally get bored of just staring at and flexing his hands, carefully worked his gloves off one by one, wincing all the while, then raised his hands for all the room to see.

"I got a cat," he said, and grimaced.

Riza blinked again. Next to her, after several seconds of surprised silence, Havoc swiftly ducked his head into his elbow to muffle something that sounded rather like a sneeze, but that was probably choked laughter.

Both his hands, going all the way down to his wrists and then surely continuing on beneath his uniform, were rows and rows of tiny scratches and claw marks, ranging from shallow, faintly pink lines of irritation to deep furrows that looked like they must've bled. Suddenly, all the wincing earlier, and the whining he'd made as he'd slowly picked up his pen to start signing, made sense. For god's sake, he looked like he'd gotten in a fight with a bush of thorns. And lost.

"You got a cat... and, presumably, tried to stick your hands in its mouth?" Breda put forth, sounding just as amused as Havoc.

Again, Mustang scowled. "No. I simply committed the, apparently grave sin, of existing while in his presence. I swear, he thinks he's the Fuhrer of my house."

This time, Havoc wasn't the only one laughing, and the only reason Riza hadn't joined him was through sheer force of will.

"If the cat hates you so much, I could take him?" Fuery suggested hopefully. "Cats never did like you anyways, sir-"

But Mustang was already shaking his head, still frowning at his ruined hands. "I'm afraid that's not possible, either. The cat may not like me, but he does like... my... house." He made a face, mouth twisting into something like a fond grimace, of sorts. "And... certain things in my house."

"Certain things in it?" Havoc raised an eyebrow; Riza reached calmly over to pluck the hopeful cigarette from his fingers before he even start to light it. "Certain things like what, your dust bunny collection?"

"My collection of eccentric, _tiny_ bugs actually," he sighed. "It likes eating them. Or... chewing on them. Whatever." He waved a hand airily, then coughed and looked back at her, as if remembering what had brought up this whole conversation in the first place. "So, Major? What about it? Any tips for me?"

Riza hesitated, looking at her poor, wounded commander and wondering why it was so hard to feel any real sympathy. Perhaps it was weak smirk, the one that told her he'd known exactly what he was getting into with this pet, and decided to adopt him anyway. "...Well," she started at last, "it sounds like he's probably scared of you. I'd check with the store you got him from, see-"

"Oh," he interrupted suddenly, eye widening. "Oh. No. Not a store. I..." He trailed off to make another sour face. "... _I_ picked him up off the streets."

There was another short silence.

Riza frowned suspiciously.

Mustang smiled weakly again, a strange mix between confidence and the awareness that what he had just proclaimed was _mind-numbingly stupid,_ and slowly lowered his scratched hands to his desk.

"...you... picked him up off the streets?" Havoc asked slowly. "Ah..."

"May we ask _why_ on _earth_ you thought that would be a good idea, sir?"

"Because, apparently, I lose all semblance of brain function at the sight of a small, fluffy animal in the rain," Mustang said sardonically, again smirking like there was something here that he, and only he, found rather funny, then spread his hands again, looking appealingly around the room. "I really don't have a good explanation for this unforeseen turn my _brilliance_ has taken here. All I want now is a way to coexist with this creature without being lacerated into lunch meat."

Riza frowned again.

She glanced disparagingly down at his hands, again feeling a rather distinct lack of sympathy, then ran a trained eye over his uniform and was rather unsurprised to find to find a few tiny remnants of orange fur. It seemed the cat, as much as it didn't like her superior, liked napping in his laundry just fine. Hayate had learned very quickly that he wasn't allowed to do such things. There was actually something very nicely ironic about this; Mustang, who had tried his very best to derail all her attempts to train her dog by feeding him treats no matter his behavior, was now on the other side of things- and seemed to have been cursed with an intractable pet who was completely and utterly impervious to his _'charm'._

Served him _right._

"Sir," she said quietly, and controlled her triumphant smile into just a small, restrained grin, "you do realize you can't just try and make friends with the cat when he already hates you. You have to show him you're in charge."

It was almost comical, the- slight- way his face fell. "...that's all I'm good at, though," he said mournfully. "I mean, I can't just stand there and yell like a drill sergeant. He'd ignore me."

"Well, you _have_ been a superior officer for, what, like ten years?" Havoc proposed, smirking. "I'm sure you can teach a tiny kitty to respect you. After all, isn't that what you tried with us?"

For the third time in as many minutes, Mustang scowled. "...Every single one of you respects Hawkeye more than me."

There was a short silence. Every eye in the room turned to Riza, and she continued just calmly watching her disgruntled superior, not even batting an eye.

It was true, after all. It might not have been if Mustang had ever been capable of holding himself with even an ounce of the dignity or self-respect he showed to his superior officers when with his own men, but still, it was true.

At last, seeming to recognize defeat when he saw it, Mustang just hung his head, slumping down to his desk like a puppet with its strings cut. "Plan B, then," he sighed miserably, and finally, for the first time all hour, picked up his pen. "Major Hawkeye?" he asked again. "What's the procedure for requesting a rabies shot?"

* * *

Ed sneezed.

He sneezed again.

He sneezed a third time.

Roy sighed.

"If you expect me to feel bad for you," he grumbled, still turned away from him as he slowly fought with his tie, "then, don't. You should've known staying outside in the rain was a bad idea."

"Shut _up,"_ Ed snarled at him, or, more accurately, tried to; with his voice congested and half muffled, Roy really wasn't sure what to call it. "I'm not expecting anything. You're the only loser here who expect people to feel bad for him when he's sick. I'm just... sitting here."

Then, he sneezed again.

"...Sitting here sneezing," he amended weakly, sounding a little miserable, then coughed.

Once again, Roy sighed.

"Sitting here looking miserable," he complained under his breath, finally turning back around to face him. He whisked the blanket Ed had been clinging to away, ignoring his sad whine of a protest, and piled it well out of his reach. "You've been sneezing into it since yesterday morning; it's filthy, Ed, and not doing you any favors. Get another one from the closet."

Ed sent him a victimized look, curling up closer into himself and looking as if he was never going to go anywhere ever again, never mind right now. "But... but Skullfire's comfortable," he said with a pout. "Come on, if I get up I'll make him upset. I _can't_ get up, General... _please.._."

Ah, yes.

The beast.

Yes, his highest concern was making sure the beast wasn't _upset._

Roy frowned darkly at the orange and white ball of fluff, next to him on the couch and curled up just as tight as Ed. He most definitely was _not_ going to get a blanket for the sake of that creature. His hands hadn't stopped hurting- or, sometimes, bleeding- ever since they'd _got_ the surely possessed thing. The fact that it seemed content to sleep next to Ed, but Roy knew if he so much as dared to sit down as well, he'd be hissed at it, somehow made the sight even more offensive.

This was why he wished Ed had had the good fortune to have just run into a drowning puppy instead.

Ed blinked innocently up at him, all the picture of just a sad, shivering child whose only wish in the world was a blanket. He held out his hands out to the sleeping Skullfire, as if trying to say _look how cute! You know you can't make me disturb him! Look how cute he is!_

Roy scowled.

"I am _not_ going to be swayed by melodramatic, silly, immature-"

Ed sneezed again, abruptly ruining his sad and innocent facade. He ducked his head violently into his hands, trying to cover it, then gave a somewhat loud sniff, shoulders slumping as he rubbed his nose across his sleeve. He was also still shivering.

...just, damn it.

"You are an incorrigible brat. Incorrigible, I say." Glaring at the ball of fluff, Roy gave the couch a wide berth as he stalked off, digging through the closet himself. Unbelievable. _"Here."_ He dropped the new, a little dusty but hopefully clean blanket down over Ed- and Skullfire- though he did make sure to keep out of the cat's reach as he did so. Then he paused, really looking down at him as the alchemist just drew himself deeper under the covers, still shivering even though his face was flushed with a slight fever. "Maybe I should stay home," he hedged uncertainly. "In case you-"

" _No!"_ Ed all but shouted, a cross between just sickly grumpy and exasperated. "In case nothing; I'm _fine._ It's just a cold! I told you, I'm probably just going to spend most of the time sleeping here with Skullfire." He patted the small lump in the blanket for emphasis and hunkered down a little more, clearly trying to look like he was all right despite the fact that he was visibly, obviously, sick. "For the last time, _go._ If you stay I'm just going to sneeze and yell at you." He sniffled again, though this time it didn't sound quite as pathetic, with Ed still glaring at him with reddened, watery eyes. "Go. _Go."_

Roy sighed, holding up a hand in surrender. He could already tell if he tried to insist upon staying, Ed would turn around and try to make him miserable the whole time as revenge- or, possibly, just to drive him out of the house. "All right, all right... I'll go. Only if you promise to just please stay here until I get back, though."

"Do I _look_ like I want to be going anywhere right now, jackass?"

Well, he did have a point.

Shrugging again in defeat, Roy turned away again, checking his reflection to straighten his eyepatch. He didn't normally care all that much about his appearance, but... well, today was a special occasion.

It was, after all, Sunday.

The day he met with Gracia Hughes for their weekly visit to the cemetery.

He wasn't sure when exactly the tradition had started; some time when he'd been assigned up north, and Gracia had been one of the many people he'd been trying very hard not to think about it. He knew the origins had something to do with Elicia. She'd only been four at the time of her father's death- and just, as they'd realized, hadn't been old enough to remember him. One, two years after Maes had died, and while Gracia had still been grieving, Elicia had barely remembered enough to know she was supposed to miss him, or even feel sad at all. Since Roy hadn't been there at the time to help- another fact of his life that he felt couldn't apologize enough for- Gracia had finally just started taking her daughter with her to visit Maes, and telling her stories in hopes it would at least give her _something_ concrete about her father to remember him by. And when Hawkeye and the invasion had finally dragged him back to Central, Roy had very quickly been pulled in as well.

It wasn't as depressing as he'd first worried it might be. At a certain point, it was just more cathartic and stress-relieving than mournful. He'd known Maes never would've forgiven him if he sat around here seven years later using his death as just a weekly excuse to mope- _or_ if he'd not stepped in to look after his family as much as he could.

Another reason to feel guilty about his two year long exile in the north, even though Gracia had already told him, in no uncertain terms, to never apologize for that.

Roy paused as he glanced back at Ed's huddled up, shivering form over his shoulder. It was a shame he couldn't have Gracia over here to take a look at him. As a nurse and a mother, she'd probably be able to do a much better job of making sure this cold didn't turn into something more serious than he could. And even that aside, having someone else in the city who Ed could talk to and rely on would surely do wonders...

Roy hesitated.

"...Ed?"

The teen grumbled something under his breath as he sank deeper into his blankets. _"What?"_ He pressed himself tighter into the pillows, looking rather irritated with him now, like he just wanted him to go so he could sleep.

"I... you know how you said, back when Izumi was here, that you wouldn't necessarily mind if one or two more people knew you were back?"

Ed, mid-shiver as he wormed down deeper into his blanket nest, stopped. After several seconds, still with surprise or shock, he nervously lifted his eyes just enough to meet his, and... well, at least he didn't look angry about the idea.

That was the best that could be said for his reaction, though, so Roy hastened to explain further. "Gracia has more reason than most to not have much trust in the military being fair. She'd keep your return secret from them. And you know she'd love to see you- she's really missed..." He stopped, swallowing. He really shouldn't be guilting Ed into this. "...She'd just be really glad to know that you're safe, Ed."

Ed averted his eyes down to his knees again, shifting so his hair fell to obscure his expression. He slipped down a little further, one hand darting out to rub uneasily at Skullfire, and said nothing.

At last, Roy just had to concede. This had been a bad idea, especially with Ed sick like this. He should wait for something this momentous until Ed was more secure, not spring it up when he was sneezing and coughing like a sick dog. "It doesn't have to be today, if you don't want," he sighed heavily. "I just thought that you might-"

"Okay."

Roy blinked.

"...Pardon?"

"...okay," Ed mumbled, voice even smaller than before, and ducked his head. "You can tell her. Today."

There was a short, awkward moment of silence.

"I just..." he started at last, still looking away, "I don't want Winry knowing. That's... _not_ okay," he stressed adamantly. "But I don't exactly have any good reasons for you not to tell anyone else. And... I guess I liked it fine when Teacher was here..."

Roy held back a wince. That hardly sounded convincing at all. In fact, it was so weak of a lie it almost was painful. "Ed, listen to me. If you don't want-"

"I said _okay,_ damn it," he muttered angrily. He slunk a little further down into a cross being a sulking irritation and an angry pout, then just sighed, softening a little as he tried to explain. "I know actually coming back officially will be... easier. The more friends I already have, I mean. And I guess I know that I _do_ have to actually come back, at some point, no matter how much I don't want to. I... _don't_ really have a valid reason to say no at this point so just... just do it. Do it and get it over with." He paused, still fiddling at his blanket with a slightly trembling hand. "If you're lucky, I may even thank you for it," he grumbled darkly- but there _was_ a small ring of truth in there, and Roy knew he was being honest. Even though he doubted he'd get thanks for this, Ed was still telling the truth: just because this wasn't necessarily something that he _wanted_ didn't mean it would not wind up good for him in the end.

He sighed in relief, something loosening as his chest as he realized this was not going to be a tragic failure after all. Gracia was a saint; he already knew she wouldn't react unfavorably to Ed- and as for Ed, well, he was right. The more people he had to support him when he was finally ready to venture out of this house and come back, the better it would be for him. And Gracia, unlike Izumi, lived in Central; there wasn't a four day train ride standing in between them if something happened and Ed needed someone there beside him. This would be good from all sides- if only they could just get through the uncomfortable first meeting this would bring.

A thought came to him suddenly, and Roy abruptly hesitated, his hopes souring a little as they dropped into his stomach. He bit his lip, uneasy and anxious out of almost nowhere, and nervously lifted his eye up again to look at Ed. If Gracia was going to be coming over here, then...

"Ed?" he asked again, the words sticking uncomfortably in his throat. How was he supposed to even go about asking this? "...There... by chance, you didn't... in Germany, you never ran into the... t-to Hughes' double, did you?"

Ed blinked in innocent surprise. The question had obviously thrown him, and he was quiet for a second, just looking at him, then gave a startled nod. "Uh, yeah. I did, actually."

It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting, and worriedly preparing himself for, but it still didn't put him at ease. If Hughes' German double had been anything like his own, and there stood no reason to assume that he _hadn't_ been- if Rainart had been in the military, it was almost certain that German Hughes had been as well. But, if Roy was right, then Ed;s reaction to that question surely wouldn't have been so calm.

But... if he _had_ been, somehow...

"Is he..." He swallowed thickly, clenching his hands against the table to stop them from shaking. He could barely continue to meet Ed's eyes, at this point. "...do you think he's someone that I... wouldn't want to hear about?"

He knew it wasn't fair of him to ask. Whatever his best friend's double had done, if Ed could survive it, Roy could surely survive just hearing about it. But, god- if he was _anything_ like the monster Rainart had been-

Was it really that unfair of him to just not want to hear it?

His best friend was already dead, and some days, that wound was just as fresh as at it had been seven years ago. He really did not want it poisoned, too, to learn that in this other world, Hughes had committed the same atrocities as Rainart. Let him at _least_ just remember him in peace.

Or, god, at least not let _Gracia_ hear it.

Ed, however, grinned.

"No," he said quietly, then sniffled a little. "He's fine."

...Oh.

Relief burned in his chest again, and he hadn't even realized how tightly he'd been clenching his jaw until the tension relaxed and he slumped down with an almost gasped sigh.

"He was fine, actually," Ed told him, shrugging slightly. Then he grinned weakly. "His name was Meinhard, over there. Took some getting used to." He glanced uncertainly back at him, still fiddling with his blanket. "I don't actually know if he knew you- or, Rainart, if you were going to ask. I tried asking him if he knew a Roy, once; I was just curious- obviously, he had no idea what I was talking about. Even laughed a little, actually; told me he'd never be friends with a snooty Frenchman."

"...A snooty what?"

"Oh, a Frenchman," Ed said, as if that explained everything, then rubbed his nose again and waved his hand in the same motion. "Over there, Roy's a French name, actually."

"A... what name?"

Ed blinked. Then, clarity came to his eyes, and his smile fell a little, just like that, as he looked away, hiding his still shivering hands in his lap. "...Never mind," he murmured, sounding almost disappointed, somehow, but before Roy could even put his finger on it he'd shaken his head brusquely and moved on. "Never mind. Doesn't matter." He paused, still staring at his lap, almost downtrodden. "...There was a German Gracia, though," he went on at last. "I spent about a year convincing him to just suck it up and ask her out."

Before Roy knew it, the relief and warm sense of nostalgia was coaxing another exhausted smile out of him, cajoling him easily to just let the French thing go and focus on Hughes. "Believe it or not, he spent a long time pining over Gracia here, too." It had been to the point Roy had almost been about to ask Gracia out _himself_ , just to get Hughes to shut up about the _beautiful angel whose smiles were like the sun._ Whatever the hell that meant.

Ed grinned weakly again, still picking at stray threads on his blanket and not really looking at him. "Yeah," he said quietly. There was long, uncertain moment of silence. "...I know what you're worried about, though," he murmured at last. "You don't have to be. I mean... he _was_ in the military, but it was before things... went bad. The Hughes over there was as well-connected and nosy as ours was, and he'd been tipped off about some of the things that were about to happen to the Jews before we even went into Poland. Al and I managed to convince him the best thing for him to do was desert and run for it- and he did."

Another sigh of relief grew in his throat and he swallowed tightly, trying to silence it. Good. _Good._ There were some wars that were too immoral to fight, and desertion was the only right choice a soldier had- from even the little Ed had told him, this war had been one of them. God, if there was any war that qualified, _this one_ did. The knowledge that his best friend had managed to escape it was intensely heartening- even if he still wished Rainart could've not been so fucking stupid and just done the same. Even if it meant he probably never would've seen Ed again, he still wished it, because Ed would've been happier, and Al would've been alive."

"Yeah," Ed sighed after a moment, glancing uncertainly at him. "In the end, everything was- pretty much all right. He got Gracia, and we helped him to Switzerland. That's basically no-man's land, in Europe- they somehow stayed out of the war, took refugees and everything- it was the best place to try and run to. Their whole policy was to stay neutral in it all, so they couldn't really kick out Jews _or_ German deserters." Ed hesitated again, chewing on his lower lip. "We just saw him to the border... I actually don't know what happened to him, after that. I mean, they weren't exactly carrying letters between Switzerland and Germany for us to keep in contact." He laughed weakly, but the sound was strained, and his his smile faded as he looked away again. "...I know the situation ended up pretty bad over there, too. They started just jailing all the foreigners at some point, trying to get all the millions of refugees running for their borders to get the point that there just wasn't any room for them... but- but even in the worst case scenario, Hughes and Gracia would've been fine," he rushed out hurriedly, as if suddenly realizing how his words could be taken. "It wasn't like what was going on in Germany; not at all. It was humane. They weren't executing or torturing people... Switzerland really was the best place to be in all of Europe at that time, no matter who you were. It was just- marginally less awful then everywhere else."

Roy nodded slowly, absorbing all of this. So, his best friend, no matter the world, had found Gracia. Good. Maes wouldn't have been Maes without Gracia. And he'd escaped the war. Honestly, more than he ever could've hoped for. And, by the way Ed was telling it, he'd gotten the happiest ending that was possible, in that hellscape of a world.

Given all the horrible possibilities that existed as a way this conversation could've ended, Roy knew this was really far better than he could've ever hoped for.

"...Thank you for telling me this," he said at last, voice quieter and weaker than he'd intended, and bowed his head. "Really. Thank you."

At least Hughes had gotten his happy ending in one world.

Ed glanced away to return his attentions to Skullfire, seeming a little uncomfortable with the suddenly emotional turn this had taken. He just gave a little nod, still futzing with his little demon fluffball, and Roy grinned weakly. "...Right," he said, clearing his throat, then moved to stand. So, it was decided, then. "I'll get going. And, if everything works out, I'll head back with Gracia at noon," he said firmly. Although it might not do any good, he was going to try and give Ed a concrete timeline so the kid at least wouldn't spend the whole day being anxious. "And, it'll probably be just us two. Elicia should be old enough to understand to keep this secret now, but I doubt Gracia'll want to risk her ending up in trouble- or getting into a habit of lying. So, it'll probably just-"

"Old enough?" Ed interrupted, frowning. He rubbed at his nose again as he started to sit up, sending him a confused look. "What do you mean, old- _oh._ Right. Right. She's... god, Elicia's what, thirteen now?" He shook his head with a self-deprecating grin. "Wow. Sorry. I guess I've just never stopped picturing her as that little kid we knew over here- she'd be a teenager now. Damn... I never really knew her as anyone beyond that little kid calling me her Little Big Brother Ed," he said, smirking. "This'll be... weird."

After a moment of surprise, Roy slowly nodded, relaxing into another understanding smile. He supposed it wasn't all that surprising Ed wouldn't have pictured Elicia as a teenager- not when he'd only ever known her as a young child, after all. Some days, it was hard even for him to remember she wasn't a little kid anymore, and he'd actually watched her grow up. Of course Ed wouldn't have realized it. He nodded again, watching as Ed mulled it over- then, slowly, started to smirk. "Ah, yes..." he murmured, eying Ed carefully. "I remember that. You know..." He tilted his head, pretending to look over him speculatively, "I think that might still be an apt moniker even now, Ed. Little Big Brother that I look at you... yes- you look to be an about an inch shorter than her now. Quite fitting."

Ed's eyes widened. He sputtered for a moment, red-faced and gasping in a expression so familiar it was painful, then jerked upright to chuck the nearest object his fist latched on- thankfully, just a harmless tissue box- at him, then shouted, " _Get out!"_

"What?" he chuckled innocently, spreading his hands. "I'm only starting a factual observa-"

"Get the hell out or I'm siccing Skullfire on you."

Roy rolled his eye. "Oh, please." He glanced suspiciously back down at the slumbering ball of fur, then back at Ed. "He's not an attack dog. And anyway, you can't possibly have trained him that quick-"

"Skullfire." Eyes blazing, Ed reached over with his increasingly scratched and mauled prosthetic, gently prodding the kitten awake. Skullfire, irritated at being woken up, gave a particularly loud hiss and promptly sank his teeth into Ed's hand; Ed, just smirking at it, carefully turned the cat around so he was oriented towards Roy instead. "Skullfire. You know what to do: _get the bastard."_

The kitten glanced over at Roy- whose nearly permanently scratched hands suddenly were starting to ache just at the memory of those sharp little teeth. He hissed again. He slowly started to rise up onto all fours, tail curling like he was about to spring.

Roy was out of the house before the cat had even gotten a single step off the couch.

* * *

As Roy had predicted, Gracia's reaction when she finally saw his _I think I have something to show you that you'll find quite interesting_ comment, was complete and utter shock.

Roy's was a more mild relief, when he found that, somehow, in the hours since he'd left that morning, Ed had managed to fall asleep. So instead of being greeted a ball of nerves that had been growing worse and worse and worse to reach a critical hold all day long, all that was waiting for them was a knocked out alchemist, fast asleep in a pile of blankets and a pillow hugged loosely to his chest, and a kitten curled up just as peacefully next to his head.

Gracia just stood in the doorway and stared blankly.

He waited for several moments, letting her adjust to the surely stunning sight before her, then just cleared his throat and gently shut the door behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible. "I'm a little surprised," he said softly, just so they wouldn't be left standing there in dead silence. "He didn't look like he was going to be able to calm down enough to sleep when I left. I'm glad."

To be fair, he still didn't look all that wonderful now. It seemed as if his fever had gotten a little higher, and the congestion a lot worse; Roy could hear him trying to breathe from all the way across the room. It sounded like he'd been coughing a lot, too, by the tired, wet sort of sound in his breaths. He clung to the blankets in his sleep, but even then was still shivering a little, a slight hint of tension in his jawline, and even as Roy watched, he coughed again. Not that _Skullfire_ seemed to care, being so close to the germfest that his mouth was at the moment. Roy would never understand how the kitten, so hellbent on hissing and scratching at him whenever he was within scratching distance, could be content to sleep so peacefully next to Ed.

Gracia, finally, shook herself out of her daze, still staring rather openly at the incapacitated alchemist. She took a small step forward, then glanced uncertainly at Roy. "He looks..."

"...I know." He looked away, back towards Ed. "I know. ...He's gotten a lot better, though. Trust me."

After all, no matter how bad off Ed looked now, Gracia would never know how much worse he'd been in the weeks after he'd first arrived. And he certainly didn't intend on telling her.

It took several moments for Gracia to start to tentatively move forward, clearly wary of waking him. Roy followed her lead, sitting with her on the edge of the table so there wasn't a chance they'd wake him up by unsettling the couch, though Ed seemed too heavily to asleep for it to really have mattered much, anyway. He knew Ed slept extremely lightly these days, jumping out of bed at even the slightest sound- if he hadn't woken at the sound of the door, then it was probably the fever keeping him so down. Roy started to reach forward to feel it by habit, then stopped when he realized the motion had Gracia watching him in surprise.

"He... looks terrible," she said quietly when he just dropped his hand, shifting uncomfortably. Something on her face almost looking heartbroken. "And, you said that Al was... was..."

He swallowed tightly. "Dead. Yes." He looked away again. The specifics of that, he hadn't told her- and again, he didn't expect to. Ed had only told Izumi because she was a fellow alchemist, and never would've accepted anything less than the truth. Gracia, after seeing how hard it was for Ed to even remember that place, never mind talk about it, was probably not going to push him- and Roy, for his part, was grateful, whether selfishly or not. He didn't much like thinking about the specifics of how Al had died, either.

Gracia looked hesitantly back towards Ed again, and that something heartbreaking on her face got even worse. She reached out towards him just like he had, hand faltering while in mid-air, then stared down at her lap with a muffled sort of a cough. "I can't even imagine. They were so close... he can't possibly be okay, Roy..."

"...he's not." Roy slumped a little, fingers interlacing to drop between his knees, and tried not to look too hard at the lingering circles beneath his eyes. "He's not okay, but... but he _is_ doing better, though, Gracia. It's hard for you to see it now, just now getting to meet him, but... he really is." He hesitated, wondering if what he was going to say next was really something appropriate to go with. "...you, of all people, should know that this is a process."

Thankfully, Gracia didn't seem to take offense at his comment, still not looking away from Ed. She did, however, slowly reach to twist her wedding ring, finger scratching almost shakily at the diamond. "I know," she murmured, voice strangely choked, and Roy found himself looking away, his own old grief tightening in his chest.

After several moments, Gracia did lean forward to look at Ed a little closer, though this time didn't make a move to touch him. She examined him for a second or two- then, when she turned back to him, it was with a severe frown. "Roy Mustang," she said, her voice quiet with danger, "what, exactly, is all of this?"

Roy winced. "The damn cat is what it is. He attacked Ed the first day- it's how they met. ...hey, don't look at me like it's _my_ fault-"

"If you've been taking care of him, it most certainly is." She looked back at Ed in close examination, then huffed quietly. "And he's sick, too. Roy, what have you been _doing_ to him-"

"Hey, he chose to go out into the rain! You really can't blame me for that one, too, Gracia!"

She gave him another look, though this one was at least a little more amused than before. "If you're going to take care of someone, that means _not_ letting them run out into the pouring rain and getting attacked by wild street cats, Roy," she chided warmly, even as she started to turn back to Ed again.

Skullfire finally twitched awake, probably being roused by all the noise. The kitten raised his head, blinking at the unfamiliar sight of Gracia- then, strangely, he purred a little. He leaned towards her, eyes wide and tail swishing, then started to nudge his head at Ed's chin, as if he knew she was a nurse and was trying to get her to help his undisputed master. He purred again, a little louder this time, even as Ed shifted and groaned in his sleep.

Gracia softened almost immediately, blinking down at the insolent creature. "Oh, look at you! You're helpful, aren't you." She carefully reached out one slow hand to gently rub his back, then shot a stunned Roy another look. "I thought you said he was feral!'

"He... he _is!_ To _me."_ Roy glared at Skullfire, who seemed perfectly content under Gracia's attentions even as he tried to get her to focus on Ed. "Insubordinate, disrespectful creature. Did you forget whose been paying for all that food you eat?"

Skullfire, once again, hissed at him.

Gracia laughed quietly, giving the irritating kitten another gentle scratch before returning her focus to Ed, carefully feeling his forehead with a light touch. She tsked quietly at something, then started shifting around, feeling his pulse and other things while Roy moved uncomfortably, wondering if he should leave or not. "It's really not as bad as it looks," he said, just as quietly. "He got sick once before, too, and a lot worse than this- and he ended up okay. He... he was pretty much fine this morning..."

Gracia gave him another sharp look. "That doesn't mean very much. In fact, it worries me more. He shouldn't have gotten this sick twice in such a short period of time."

Roy bit his tongue, wondering how much he should really say about how bad off Ed had been when he'd made it back home from Germany, and how it really wasn't a wonder he hadn't gotten sick _more,_ not less. "It's... it's not like that, Gracia, really..."

"It is, though." She moved a little closer with another frown. "The only reason he's probably still asleep at all is because of this fever. And..." She felt his face again, then started to carefully pull at the collar of his shirt- then abruptly stopped, her eyes widening in almost alarm.

"...Gracia?" Worry started to squirm in his gut, and he couldn't help but to lean forward and try and see what she was looking at.

"These... these scars." With gentle, practiced fingers, she ghosted along the top of one deep furrow, staring again with that miserable mix being worry and heartbroken pity. "These have to still be hurting him. They didn't heal well... I wonder if I could do something about that..." She looked worriedly at him again, still touching the scars. "Has he never said anything about these bothering him?"

Roy's words fell back to choke him somewhere in the back of his throat.

The scars on Ed's back.

The scars that were from...

When Rainart had...

Slowly, mutely, he shook his head, and forced himself to look away.

Gracia tsked quietly again. Apparently, from this position, she couldn't see just how bad or numerous the scars were- or what had caused them. "Well, that won't do at all," she said quietly, then started to shift around, wrapping the blanket a little more securely around him. "Come on, Roy," she said briskly. "Help me get him up."

"Wha- _up?_ " he sputtered, shocked. "What are you- no, Gracia, he's really all right, he just-"

"Yes, Roy, while I have unending confidence in your ability to make sure he doesn't waste away and die, I also suspect your medicine cabinet has very little appropriate in it, and I also already know you have nothing to use for scars like these." She smiled warmly at him even as she spoke, then gave Ed's shoulder another gentle little shake, again trying to rouse him.

"I..." Still a little stunned, Roy looked between the two before his eye settled on Gracia again. "What about Elicia? How are we going to keep this a secret from her if Ed and I just show up-"

"You underestimate my daughter. She has a lot more of Maes in her than most people realize... if we just sit down and fully explain the situation to her, she'll understand how important it is we keep everything about Ed quiet. You'll see." That said, Gracia rose brusquely to her feet, wiping her hands off, then ordered him with a business-like point to get Ed up.

Skullfire, as if somehow sensing, again, that Gracia was going to be very good for his master, hopped down off the couch to land against her leg, rubbing his head against her shoe. Once again, Roy felt a pang of betrayal.

It really seemed as if everything was conspiring in his life to be against him, lately- even the _dammed_ cat.

"...Fine." He dropped his face wearily into his hand, rubbing at his brow with a sigh. "Fine. ...Just get the stupid kitten. Ed'll be worried if I try to leave him here alone."

He watched miserably as Gracia knelt down to slowly get the kitten to climb into her arms. Skullfire bit at her hand, too, though it was gently, and Gracia didn't betray it with anything but a silent wince, though Roy still saw it. He sighed again. It was as if the kitten just thought that was how to say hello. Actually, there was a good chance he probably did- given that Ed was the one he spent the most time with, and with Ed, he could bite his hand all day long and not accomplish anything more than an increasingly, hopelessly ruined wooden arm. Skullfire probably didn't even realize he was hurting Gracia.

It still annoyed him as he watched the kitten curl up happily in her arms, and he was just left to carefully lean forward to try and wake up the ill, sweating alchemist, hoping that they could get him some help and that, despite Gracia's worries, he was just going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because Hughes deserved a happy ending somewhere dammit *cries*


	19. S is for Sentimental

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well... it's... still Saturday someday in the world, at least...
> 
> (also i don't have the slightest clue how to write teenagers not one single solitary clue i am sorry ;_;)

"I'm going to kill you for this!"

" _...Hello to you, too. I'm glad to see you're-"_

"Roy! Shut up. _Roy._ What the hell?! Why- why did you take me over here, what were you even _thinking,_ you-"

" _Ed."_

"You- gah!" Ed groaned, nearly throwing the phone down as he sent another suspicious glance around the empty, foreign home, clutching his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Stupid _Roy._ "I swear, when I get my hands on you-"

" _Oh, calm down, Ed, you're not going to do anything."_ There was a loud rustling of static, likely as Roy shifted the phone against his ear, then a sigh as he continued. _"I am sorry I had to leave for work, though. But, by the sound of it, you already feel much better... I guess you've learned your lesson about playing in the rain now."_

Ed scowled, saying nothing. He dropped limply to sit back down on the couch and beckoned Skullfire to come sit in his lap, taking some weak sense of solace that at least his cat hadn't betrayed him. His cat. The only one, now. "That's why Skullfire doesn't like you," he pointed out sulkily, starting to pet him. "Because you think his adoption was just me playing in the rain. And _yes_ , I feel better, _perfectly fucking fine,_ no thanks to _you_ kidnapping me in the middle of the night-"

" _Once again, Ed, that was Gracia doing the kidnapping. I really had nothing to do with it. If you want to argue over that, take it up with her, but I think we both know she's not the type of woman you want to argue with. Additionally-"_

Ed choked, another angry sneeze tearing its way out and doubling him over, sending him in a frantic rush to bury it into his sleeve. Then, as if revenge for the now doubly worse sore throat, he found himself having to fight hard to swallow back a round of coughs. Skullfire jumped at the sudden upset in his position, flinching away to hiss at him, but Ed was too busy struggling to get his breath back to sooth him.

A long beat of silence issued from the phone, and, as soon as Ed had managed to calm his stupidly rebelling body down, he glared it.

Slowly, he raised it up to his ear again, and muttered a dark, "Not a word."

Roy, of course, did not listen to him in the slightest.

"' _Perfectly fucking fine', you say. Right. Of course. I can see that, Ed."_

Ed glared harder.

"I _said,_ not a word, bastard."

He _did_ feel better. He _did._ Ed's memory of the day before and the agonizingly slow, painful journey to the Hughes home was a little indistinct and fuzzy; anything after his exhausted, probably feverish decision to take a nap a little after Roy had left wasn't clear. But he remembered enough to know that he did feel much better now. Just because he was still sneezing... and coughing... and his throat still hurt... and he was still _cold..._ Ed shivered again, glaring down at his hands. No, none of that did not mean he wasn't _better._

It certainly wasn't a good reason for him to have been abducted over here like he couldn't even take care of _himself_ , any more!

At length, Roy just gave a loud, vexed sigh over the phone, clearly amused and trying to hide it. _"Look, just be quiet and content yourself to be taken care of for once, would you? Unlike myself, Gracia's actually a wonderful cook. I'm sure you remember. If you'd just relax, you might actually learn how to enjoy being pampered."_

"But-"

" _Or, you could continue to be stubborn, and make everything more difficult that way."_ Once again, despite the harsh words, Ed could tell the general was inexcusably amused by all of this, to the point he almost wanted to punch his smug face in. _"Either way works, really... what are you even doing out of bed, anyway? Something tells me Gracia wouldn't have let you get up just to berate me."_

Yet again, Ed found himself glaring at nothing. He continued to pet Skullfire and sent a second suspicious glance around the room, making sure he was still in the clear. "She's not even here. She went out shopping or something; I don't know. But you deserve to be berated, so yes, she definitely would've let me do it, so- shut up, I don't need anyone's permission to berate you anyway! You deserve it!" Glaring, he sank back further into the couch, nestling a little deeper with Skullfire. "It doesn't matter, anyway, cause like I said, she's not here. I'm supposed to be being watched by-"

"Edward Elric! _What_ are you doing out of bed? I told you to _stay put!"_

There was a long moment of silence. The back of Ed's neck prickled with the weight of the accusatory stare that he knew was on it.

Quietly, Roy snickered.

" _I heard that, Ed."_

Skullfire purred innocently, oblivious to the seething mass of irritation at the smug bastard that was growing inside him, and Ed slowly scratched the back of his neck, forcing himself to calm down a little, before he just pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up without saying a word. Stupid _Roy._

Then, arranging his features into a hopefully cajoling, appeasing smile, he turned around on the couch to face his newest hopeful benefactor.

"I just had to call Roy. I only wanted to ask him-"

"I heard you from outside, Ed. You weren't asking him anything; you were just yelling at him. That wasn't one of the things Mom said you could get out of bed for. Now, _go."_ And, that said, Elicia Hughes moved to point back towards the guest bedroom, and the look in her eyes said that if he didn't comply with the command, she was going to walk over and just pull him back there anyway.

Ed groaned, absentmindedly continuing to pet Skullfire. It was one blow to his pride to be kidnapped over here because Roy and Mrs. Hughes evidently thought he was so fragile he couldn't beat a _cold,_ now- but to be ordered about by a thirteen year old?

Roy, he was sure, found it hilarious. And Al probably would've, as well.

With a sigh, because he really was too tired to put up much of a fight about this- though he'd never admit it aloud, going back to bed actually did sound nice, for his tired, aching body and pounding head- Ed acquiesced. "C'mon, Skullfire," he groaned again, carefully getting his cat to crawl into his arms in such a way that he could still hold onto his blankets. He glanced reluctantly back at Elicia. "Your mom really is overreacting, you know. I'm fine..." _Sort've fine. Mostly fine. Whatever..._

Elicia was completely unswayed, however. "You're just like Uncle Roy... saying you're fine doesn't mean that you actually _are._ And you really don't look fine. Besides, Mom'll be mad at me if she gets home and finds out I let you get up, Ed."

He sighed again. "I _am_ fine," he grumbled, choosing to ignore all the parts of him that felt not-so-fine. Not that it mattered, because it was pretty apparent that no matter what he said, Roy and the Hughes family weren't going to listen to him.

Resigning himself to what was looking to be a day or two of enforced bedrest and coddling him, Ed hugged Skullfire, set him down on the floor, then turned around to flop back heavily into a warmer nest of blankets. The rough landing didn't agree at all with his head, a wave of painful dizziness pounding through his skull, but he just gritted his teeth and kept silent through it. If Elicia saw how badly he actually felt, she'd tell her mother, and that would lead nowhere good.

He heard Elicia pause in the doorway, seeming almost hesitant, and left his eyes closed, not saying anything. This all felt very strange to him, and, he could imagine, to her as well. There had never been any German version of Elicia- at least, as far as he knew. Once he and Al had sent the Hugheses to Switzerland, anything might've happened- but at least, as far as his memories went, he'd never so much as seen her in the other world. She was unique in that way... he'd at least _met_ a double for almost everyone else, whether he'd gotten to be friends with them or not. Then, in Elicia's shoes... hell, he couldn't imagine what this must've been like for _her._

He would've apologized for intruding into their lives like this, but he really hadn't had all that much choice in the matter, this time around.

"...Mom should be back soon," Elicia said finally from the doorway, still sounding a little uncertain and uncomfortable, like she wasn't sure how to treat him or talk to him. "She said she wouldn't take too long."

He shrugged tiredly, leaving his eyes on the ceiling. Mrs. Hughes hadn't said too much, just that she was going to go pick up extra medicines. He really wasn't sure what she was doing- as bad as he felt right now, it _was_ just a cold, after all, he'd be totally fine in a few days- but wasn't going to question her. He was just too tired for it now. "I'll be fine waiting," he murmured listlessly.

After several moments, when no further words came from the doorway, Ed tilted his head back enough to look towards her again. "You can leave, if you want." He managed a weak, crooked grin. "Promise I won't get up again." She looked very uncomfortable, and he really couldn't blame her. It really would probably be easiest for her if she just went back to her room and pretended he didn't even exist. He couldn't even blame her if she wanted to do exactly that.

Elicia, however, hesitated again, still dawdling in the doorway and not looking up at him again, instead staring somewhere near her feet. She still look uncomfortable, but not quite enough so yet that she was going to run for the hills- no, it actually looked like she wanted to say something, though just what exactly it was, he couldn't guess.

"Um, no, that's okay," she told him finally, shifting from foot to foot uneasily, her voice small. "I actually... can I stay a little bit and talk to you? When Mom told me about you, it was- I guess I got... curious." She stopped, biting her lip. Then her eyes widened and she abruptly looked back up to him, suddenly nervous and taking a tiny step backwards. "I'm so sorry, that sounds awful, that's not- and you probably don't even want-" She took another step backwards, shaking her head again. "I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you; I know you don't feel well... I'll just- I'm just going to-"

Unable to help a weak laugh, Ed waved her forwards again, propping himself up on one elbow. "Calm down, calm down, jeez. You're fine!" She still looked a little nervous and unsure of herself, so he forced another grin and sat up a little more. "I wouldn't mind some company." Given he spent a very high majority of his time skulking around Roy's house and completely alone, it was the truth. He really wouldn't mind someone to talk to, no matter how sick he felt.

Elicia waited a few seconds more, as if searching him for some sign of deceit, like he was only being polite. Finally, somehow satisfied with whatever she'd found, her nervous features relaxed into a tiny grin of her own. "Okay..." Still looking a little unsure of her place here, she headed forwards to hop up into a nearby chair, pulling her legs up to rest her chin on them so she could look at him.

Again, there was something strange in her eyes that he couldn't really place, and he grimaced after only a few seconds of the stare, fidgeting under her examination. He wondered if it was just how unused to other people and social contact he'd really become, spending all these months basically alone save for Roy, that made him feel so uneasy, and found himself shivering as he had to look away. For the first time in a while, he thought about how hard it was going to be when he actually returned to the rest of the world like this. It'd be how he felt right now times a million. God, how the hell was he supposed to handle _that?_ He wouldn't be able to. He'd be a _mess._ Hell, he was starting to shiver just thinking of it, his stomach tying itself into anxious knots all over again. Maybe Roy and Izumi were right... maybe he really should start trying to break out of his isolation more, to prepare himself for the inevitable...

And that wasn't even considering how it was going to feel facing _Winry_ again...

"Sorry," Elicia said suddenly again, interrupted the near panic attack that had been starting to clench its fist around his heart. "I know I'm sort of... staring." He heard her fidget, and glanced back over to find her now looking down at her knees, huddled up a little more. "I just... Mom said I used to play with you a lot, when I was really little. I... don't really remember. I was trying to see if I recognized you."

Ed waited several moments, then, slowly, managed to force himself into relaxing again. This was fine. He could do this. This was fine. "...It's okay if you don't, you know," he said quietly. "You were really little back then, you know. Plus, it's been almost ten years- I really _hope_ I don't look the same!"

Elicia grinned weakly, at least responding to his exhausted attempt at a joke- but she still looked a little downtrodden, for some reason. She curled up a little more, hands loosely woven together, and for just a moment, Ed was struck with the nearly ancient memory of the five year old he still remembered doing the same. Just sitting down miserably, fingers weakly tugging on one of her pigtails as she stared down at her feet and waited for her father to come home.

Fuck, he really hadn't come here to feel like this.

"Look, you really... it's okay. I don't mind if you forgot me." He wasn't sure if that was why she looked so guilty, but that was the only guess he had, and was a little too tired to attempt to brainstorm for anything more. He hesitated for a moment, wondering how comforting a story this would really be to tell- then just shrugged and went for it. He was too sleepy and uneasy to contemplate otherwise right now. "Our mom died when my brother was only four. He didn't like talking about it much, but he told me a few times he couldn't even remember what she looked or sounded like."

Finally, that got her to look back up at him again, eyes bright and curious for the first time in the whole conversation. "...Really?"

He nodded again. "Really."

Elicia paused, biting her lip as she looked at him. "That's... thanks." She fidgeted again, but at least she didn't look as uneasy as before. "...I guess I don't really know how much I know about my dad is what I remember, and just what Mom's told me," she confessed quietly. "He died when I was six." Then she winced, glancing away again. "Or... I guess you knew that."

He nodded slowly, not saying anything. After a moment or two, Ed propped himself up to sit a little straighter, carefully watching her to see how she'd respond. This actually was really nice, now that he thought about it. To talk with someone who he hadn't known in Germany- and, moreover, who really hadn't known him that much over here. Someone who didn't have any expectations of the way he'd used to be, was _supposed_ to be, so they didn't stare at him like he was strange for being like this now. And it felt nice jus to be able to talk to someone like this at all. Roy was better with it now, and Izumi had tried to hide it, but something about the way they'd looked at him was as if they still cautiously saw him as fragile and were just waiting for him to break.

There was something very relaxing about just talking with someone who it _didn't_ feel they were expecting him to fall apart.

Hell, it felt nice to be the stable adult in the conversation for once.

"You guys... you were friends with me, right?" Elicia asked again, breaking him out of his reverie. "You and Al?"

Ed blinked. "What? Oh, yeah. Totally. We came over here whenever we were in Central!" He cleared his throat, a little painfully, and tried not to wince so she wouldn't feel bad for still talking to him; he'd take a little sore throat and headache to feel this at peace any day. "We were gone a lot, for the military, but Hughes, your dad, always had to drag us back over here whenever we came back. Oh- we wanted to come, though. We really did like it over here." He smiled a little again, trying to cheer her up. "You used to call me and Al your big brothers, actually."

"What?" Her eyes widened, and then she ducked her face back to hide it against her knees, cheeks flushing faintly as she sank backwards into herself. "I _did?_ That's- I'm sorry, that's so embarrassing!"

"What? No! We loved it!" Ed pushed himself a little more, now grinning with the memory. "It was great! We really had fun over here, actually, with all of you guys!"

Elicia flushed again. "But I was just a little kid. You and Al... you both worked for the military back then, right? Why- why would you have wanted to play with me at all? I can't imagine that was very fun for you guys. Especially after my dad died."

"What? No... no, it really was." He shook his head firmly, though his smile did fade a little as he tried to give her an honest answer. It was a little hard for him to remember she was older now, and he didn't need to talk to her like she was a little kid even though she was sitting right in front of him. Oh, well. He'd get used to it. And he definitely intended to get used to it now, now that he could see how relaxing this really was for him. "I guess it's a little hard to explain it, but we genuinely did like coming over here. I mean, yes, we were working for the military back then- I guess we were trying so hard to pretend to be adults that it was nice to just act like kids for a little while. Maybe your dad saw that, I don't know." He paused, watching her uncertainly. "We _did_ have fun with you. Al and I loved having a little sister."

She flushed a little again, but this time, it was with a weak smile, and she looked more touched than embarrassed, and Ed smiled back.

Elicia slowly started to unfurl, kicking her legs over the chair rather than having them pulled up to her chest. She raised her green eyes to look at him again, seeming a little hesitant once more, and again wrung her hands together anxiously, something uncertain etched into her young face. "...Could you tell me a little about him? Al? And yourself?"

Ed, already starting to open his mouth in answer again, shut it. His smile abruptly fell, and his stomach dropped.

Elicia looked away again, giving a tiny shrug. "You don't have to," she assured him quickly, voice soft. "I understand if you don't want to. I'm only asking at all because it's just... it's just weird, to have all these people Mom says were really important to me once, but that I really can't even remember now. And I know you're supposed to be a secret, so we can't really talk all that much now, but... I think I'd like it, if I could get to know you a little again." She broke off for a moment, her voice growing even smaller. "...it'd be nice to be friends with someone who knew my dad."

Ed, once again, stayed silent. He looked downwards, swallowing hard, then suddenly found himself unable to even look back up again. He stared at Skullfire, methodically combing his fingers over his back, and tried very hard to stay expressionless.

"...You don't have to," Elicia told him again, and it sounded as if she really did mean that. "I understand if you don't want to." She hesitated herself, voice still small. "...It took Mom a year or two to start really me things about Dad. Uncle Roy still doesn't like to do it much. I didn't like asking her; I could see it made her sad so I just stopped after a while. I mean, I didn't really remember him all that much, so it was easier like that... it just didn't feel fair to keep asking her things when it seemed to mean more to her than it did to me. But then, she finally started telling me things on her own. She said it was hurt more to be silent about it, like he'd never existed at all. That it actually really did help a little to talk about him to me." She paused again, and though Ed was still staring down at Skullfire, he could tell she was watching him sympathetically again. "Like I said, you really don't have to; I get it if you don't want to. But... it might help a little. And I really would like to hear more about him. Everyone's told me he was really, _really_ great and nice, but... obviously, no one knew him better than you did."

Ed stayed silent still, struggling to swallow the lump in his throat, and continued stared down at Skullfire.

He... hadn't talked about Al. To anyone.

At all.

Something deep and primal inside of him rebelled at the very thought.

But, then...

Really, why _shouldn't_ he?

It made sense why he hadn't with Roy or Izumi very much. He flat out didn't want to talk about Germany, period, but most of the stories he could've told them from Amestris, they already knew. There wasn't any point to it, especially not when it mostly just consisted of dredging up old memories and pain. But... Elicia didn't know any of that. He could talk to her about things and not just feel silly rehashing something they both already knew. There actually was a legitimate purpose to it, and he could already see that, just like with her dad, it could help her some to remember about the friends and family she'd had back then but no longer did.

He stared down for another long moment, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

He supposed, once again, it all came down to what Al would want.

And he knew Al wouldn't have wanted him to go on like Elicia said- like he'd just never existed. Even if it might've hurt less to try and pretend that, it wasn't what Al would've wanted, and it wasn't what Ed wanted to do.

Slowly, nervously, his heart still in his throat, Ed kept his gaze still glued down on Skullfire, his shaking hands still in his lap- but he started to speak.

"The first time we met you, it was because you'd decided to come early, and absolutely no one was prepared. Your dad was screaming on the phone for an ambulance, your mom was pretty much beat and just failing miserably at getting him to calm down, and Al and I were both just trying to make sure no one died. It was terrifying, and also totally awesome..."

* * *

Ed ended up spending the best part of the next several hours talking to Elicia, breaking only to follow to watch her make them both something to eat- she'd insisted- and then, finally, when he'd gotten too hoarse to go on. Once again, it was Elicia's insistence that he stop. She clearly felt a little guilty for keeping him awake and talking for so long when he already didn't feel too great, and wouldn't even listen to his protests that it wasn't that bad. He'd ended up lying back down on his side, watching as Elicia slowly worked on homework down beside the bed just so he'd still have some company, quietly pointing out mistakes and again just finding himself delighting in something so wonderfully normal.

He ended up falling asleep again to the sounds of her faint pencil scratches, and Skullfire purring by his ear.

* * *

When Ed finally woke up again, it was a start.

He jerked instinctively, twitching at the noise that had woken him up, then winced as the sudden motion ached throughout his sore, tired body. It was dark, and through the slight fuzz in his head, he could tell he'd been here out for at least several hours. He groaned softly, holding a hand to his head, and narrowed his eyes, frowning into the dark. What _time_ was it?

He could hear voices, and belatedly realized Elicia was gone. She had to have turned the light out. Skullfire was gone, too, seeming to have gotten tired waiting to be played with and gone to seek out someone less dead tired to be entertained with. Slowly shaking his head, Ed carefully began to push himself up, trying to listen to the voices outside. There was a sudden, brief silence, as if they were suddenly somehow aware they were being listened to, and, frowning, he started to get out of bed, again dragging the blankets with him. He managed to make it clumsily upright, but as tangled in the blankets as he was, failed rather miserably to more than swing his legs over the side before the door swung open, and his efforts were stopped.

Light from outside silhouetted Gracia's form, casting her into shadow, but Ed couldn't help but wince, squinting at the sudden brightness. Gracia stopped for a moment, evidently surprised, then stepped further into the room and pulled the door almost shut again, allowing just enough light in so they could see what they were doing but not enough to blind him anymore. "Sorry," she said quietly, smiling a little. "I thought you'd still be asleep."

He shook his head slowly, again trying to gather his bearings. "I was." He grimaced, clearing his throat, then tried it again, hoping for a less guttural or sickly attempt this time. "I was. It's fine." He shook his head again, blinking in mild annoyance as his long disaster of hair felt over his eyes.

Gracia paused again, still just watching him. "Roy called," she said at last. "He said to tell you he was sorry, but something came up at the office; he'll be a little late getting back tonight."

He shrugged tiredly, ignoring the quiet pang inside him. He could make it one fucking day without Roy; he was not _that_ needy, jesus christ. "That's fine. Probably good, actually; I can tell he's been neglecting a bunch of work stuff for me. Idiot'll never get promoted if he keeps on like that."

Finally, she smiled at him, head tilting to the side as she entered further into the room to reclaim the seat Elicia had taken before. "Yes, I've been able to tell something was strange with him, lately. So have many others, I can imagine... he's seemed just off for such a long time now. I just never guessed it had anything to do with you."

Ed smirked a little, running a hand through his hair. "I love to surprise people. Hadn't you noticed?" He hesitated, leveling his gaze on her for a moment before dropping it down to somewhere around her feet, shifting nervously. "...Thanks for trying to having me over here like this. You really didn't have to, I- I would've been fine on my own, eventually. This... I guess this is a pretty awful first impression to make, huh."

Gracia, however, just chuckled quietly, waving off his the apology like it was nothing. "Don't even think that; that's nonsense, Ed. Don't apologize just because people want to help you... sounds like that's a bad habit you've picked up from Roy." She gave him a scolding sort of smile even as she started to unshoulder her bag, already reaching for its contents. "Besides, you'll get better much faster here. Roy tries, bless him, but he never quite learned how to take care of himself all that well, never mind another human being. My husband always used to tease him about that." She shook her again, smiling softly. "Surely you've noticed."

"To be fair, he at least manages better than I do." Which, at this point in his life, really wasn't saying all that much, but at least it was something. Ed bit his lip, watching uneasily as Gracia continued to rummage for whatever medicines she had bought that day, and scooted back an inch or two. "I... Mrs. Hughes, I really don't need to take anything... please, I'll be fine." He did not, did not, _did not_ like medicine. He never had, and he never would. "It's just a cold, I'll kick it in a day or two. I'll be okay, really."

To his surprise, Gracia actually stopped what she was doing, raising her head to blink at him in confusion. It took several seconds for her uncertainty to clear, and when it finally did it was with a wince, like she had just realized something and it wasn't something Ed would want to hear. "Right," she murmured, almost more to herself than him, "right, Roy didn't have a chance to talk to you yet..."

He hesitated again, fists clenching uneasily against his blankets. "...Talk to me about what?"

Gracia gave him a long look, saying nothing, her eyes strangely uncomfortable in the low light- just like Elicia had looked, hours ago. Slowly, she set her bag down on the floor and folded her hands in her lap, unreadable but sympathetic in a way that made his insides twist painfully. "When you at were Roy's," she started at last, voice low, "I saw you had some scars, on your back. Roy told you I was a nurse, right? I didn't look at them beyond what I saw accidentally, but I can tell they were never treated... not at all. That can end up hurting a lot." She shrugged a little, gaze careful but warm. "Obviously, nothing beats immediate treatment and care, but they didn't seem to be _too_ old. That's why I asked Roy to take you over here. If you want, I can show you a few things you can try that might be able to help."

And, like mother, like daughter, Gracia seemed to have instantly keyed in on one of the few things that would just make his heart drop into his stomach and all his words die, and suddenly leave him sitting there shivering and unable to so much as lift his eyes up off his knees.

"I..." He swallowed, struggling hard to keep his voice steady and at least approaching calm. "I... don't know. They're... not that bad."

Gracia was quiet for a few moments; he could still feel her watching him. Somehow, Ed couldn't stop himself from drawing back another inch to stare down still.

"Roy acted rather oddly when I mentioned these to him," she told him quietly. "He wouldn't talk about them. ...These are a sensitive subject, then."

It wasn't a question, but somehow, Ed couldn't stop himself from denying it anyway. He felt almost sick again, and this time it had nothing to do with any cold. "Not... exactly..."

Gracia again gave him several moments, and he flinched, choking back any other pathetically lame attempt at a lie he might've been able to give. He _really_ did not want to talk about this, with anyone, ever. It had been bad enough going through it the first time.

"...You don't have to talk about it to let me see to them," she said at last. She didn't sound all that surprised or upset with him, but he still couldn't bring himself to so much as look up at her. "You don't even have to let me do anything at all. It's only a suggestion. It'd probably be able to help a lot, Ed, but like I said, it's your choice. If you don't want to, I won't press it."

Ed couldn't help but flinch again, still staring down at his lap. Yes, he reflected cynically, she wouldn't force him- but he still didn't have much of a choice, now, did he? What was he supposed to do now, say no and look like a masochist or a freak? He couldn't just turn down help like this without good reason, not without looking ridiculous or like an ingrate- and _not wanting to think about those scars ever_ probably didn't count as a very good reason. "I..." _don't want to say yes, but don't have any damn way to say no._

There was a long moment of silence, almost unbearable in the way he was sure Gracia was looking at him now. "We can start really slowly, if you like," she said at last, still gentle and sounding as if she was trying to give him a way out, if he wanted one. Except he couldn't take the way out, not without looking crazy, so it didn't even matter. "We can just try one thing tonight; see how you feel about it. I could just try and stretch out your shoulders a little. It'll probably hurt some, but it would be much better for you in the long run..."

Ed swallowed tightly, struggling to keep himself calm. That sounded doable. He could handle that much, right? Right? Couldn't he? That was nothing. Besides, it _was_ to help him. He had no sane grounds to say no.

"...Just try to stretch them?" he asked anxiously, fisting his hands in the sheets again. Then, almost immediately after, he rushed out, "Don't mention it to Roy. Please? He- he doesn't- ...please?" _Don't tell him about this. Don't remind him, he already feels shitty enough about all of this, and those scars especially, I really don't want to screw things up again like this-_

"...Okay, Ed. I won't."

And that was all he had to say.

Several minutes later, Ed was lying on his stomach again, head pillowed in his arms and turned towards the wall, eyes shut and face carefully controlled into a blank grimace. Gracia sat beside him, chair pulled over to the bed, and carefully worked on his shoulder through his shirt, practiced hands moving slowly over his skin and scars. He suspected it probably would've been easier if she could actually see what she was doing, but she hadn't even asked about turning the lights on, or him taking his shirt off. He was grateful for it, even if it made him feel a little bit pathetic again, and he kept his face turned towards the wall, trying to just control his breathing and ignore everything that he was feeling.

She was right, it did hurt some, but Ed was used to pain. His arm and leg had been in some constant degree of pain for ten years. It'd been worse since Germany and then making it back home to Amestris; it had been a long time, honestly, since he _hadn't_ woken up in some sort of discomfort. At a certain point, he'd just gotten used to it. It was either that, or let himself be driven mad by it. He knew Gracia was probably a little weirded out by his consistent lack of reaction, but the fact of the matter was he'd felt worse. A whole lot worse, and rather recently, at that. At least Gracia had good intentions. At least this would help him in the long run. That was better than what he could usually say.

It was still unspeakably awkward and uncomfortable, and he still couldn't manage to turn his face away from the wall, thank her, or even open his eyes, for that matter- but it wasn't as horrible as he'd imagined it would be, and that was all he could ask for.

He found it rather easy to just shut his mind off and let his thoughts wander. It was easier that way, to not think about what was going on around him or this felt. Slowly, Ed managed to coax himself into opening his eyes, blinking hazily at the shifting shadows on the wall, alternatively wincing and letting his fuzzy head shift him back closer into sleep. Gracia, thankfully, seemed to understand asking him to try and talk right now was just too much, so she kept silent in her work, and he was able to let himself be distracted. His gaze roamed tiredly, passing over shadows flickering on the wall, then an old picture of the Hughes family, then further down to a more recent one. He bit back a yawn into his hand, blinking sleepily. Maybe, if his luck held up, he'd be able to fall asleep soon after this was done, and just never have to think or deal with it ever again. Maybe-

Ed stopped. He blinked, narrowing his eyes, then, almost unbidden, felt his gaze be dragged back to the first picture on the wall.

His stomach flipped unhappily again, and his throat suddenly tightened. He ripped his gaze back down to his hands, sucking in an unsteady breath.

"Sorry," Gracia said immediately, hands withdrawing from whatever spot she'd just touched. It took him several seconds to realize why.

"I... no." Still reeling a little, he shook his head, still facing away from her. "No, no, it's- fine. I'm okay." He held perfectly still, again, yet again, always again, trying to calm down a little.

It took a few seconds for Gracia to return to her efforts, just as slow and steady as before. Ed took in another breath, struggling to force the words out and keep them as steady as possible. "...Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes?"

"You, um..." He stared harder at the wall for a moment, then just shut his eyes, turning his face a little more into his elbow. "There's... this picture. Of Roy and Hughes. I think it was them graduating together or something, I... don't actually know." His breaths quickened again as he tried earnestly to describe it; god, he'd stared at it enough to draw it out in his sleep by now. "They're both in dress uniform, and Roy is just doing that dumb thing where he glares at the camera, and Hughes is-"

"I know, I know which one you're talking about," Gracia said quickly, laughing a little. "What about it?"

Ed gritted his teeth, battling between a sigh of relief and an even more nervous twitch. He tried to swallow back his nerves, trying and failing utterly to find the right way to even approach this. If he'd had the time to think this over more, come up with the words in his head- but it was too late; he was already doing it right now, and this felt just too important to suddenly drop it now because he didn't feel ready. He probably wouldn't ever feel ready, anyway. "Do you have, like... an extra copy of it, or something? It's fine if you don't, really, it's fine-I don't want to take your only one. But, something, um... something... happened to Roy's. And... I, um, just... he'd probably like another." This, he muttered almost directly into his elbow, then coughed a little, trying again to dislodge the guilty lump growing in his throat and failing. "And... don't mention me? Please? Could you- if you don't mind, I mean- just- just give it to him and say you thought he might like to have it or something? I... I don't want him to know it was me."

Gracia paused for several long moments. Her hands weren't even moving anymore. "Somthing _happened_ to Roy's?" she quoted quietly, and whatever she suspected based off those words, he couldn't tell- but he knew it was nothing good.

The old memory of the bloody, crumpled thing flickered through his mind, and Ed shivered, leaving his face buried in his arm still. "...Yes," he confessed, then went silent.

Then, after several uncomfortably still moments, found himself talking again, almost babbling to try and justify himself, even though it couldn't be justified. "I wasn't thinking straight. It was an..." _No, it wasn't an accident, you idiot, you did it on purpose, you-_ "Everything just- happened so fast, and suddenly it was just on the floor, and I had..." _Stepped on it, smudged blood into it, ruined it every way you could to hurt Roy. That was exactly what you did, Ed._ "...I... I tried to fix it, Mrs. Hughes. Really, I did. I tried for weeks. But- but blood's _hard_ to work with, it's just so hard to get out of things, and I'm pretty sure I just made it even worse. I still have it, I couldn't ever stand to throw it away and give up, but it looks awful now, so much worse than before- and Roy's an alchemist, he'd be able to see everything I did to try and fix it but just messed it up worse- I just, I don't think I can ever fix it. But, but if you had an extra copy of it... like I said, only if you don't mind, I understand if it's too much, really... I can pay you for it or something, or, or watch Elicia, or- anything, really- just- please? And if you do, please don't tell him I asked for it? I don't want anything to do with it, I just... I want him to have the picture back. I know it meant a lot to him, and I just- I was stupid, and angry, and wasn't thinking, and-"

"Ed. Ed, calm down- of course you can have a copy! I think Maes had at least ten copies of it himself; he loved it, of course you can have one." Gracia's voice was warm again and she slowly started to work over his shoulder again. She went quiet for a few moments, as if ensuring he was really done with his trainwreck of a speech before going on herself. "You tried to fix Roy's copy?"

Ed flushed miserably, resisting the urge to pull away in embarrassment. "...Yes," he admitted reluctantly. If he could even call it fixing. It looked horrible. It looked worse than before. Some genius alchemist he was supposed to be; every attempt he'd made had only made it look even worse until it was almost pathetically painful, how awful it was. Like trying to glue the broken shards of a glass vase back together again; it was stupid and pointless, because it would never measure up to what it had been before, and any idiot could look at it and see it had been broken.

Gracia paused for a moment longer.

Then, when she spoke again, he could hear the smile in her voice.

"I think you should give it to him," she told him brightly, then went back to stretching out his shoulder.

Ed barely stopped himself from stiffening in revulsion. "W- _what?_ " he gasped weakly, shaking his head. "Give it to him? No! It looks terrible, it-"

"I'll give him another copy, that's no problem, Ed, really- but I think you should also give him the one you fixed. Something tells me he'd really appreciate it."

And then, with one firm pat on his arm, far away from the sore and exhausted parts of his back and shoulders she just'd spent the past half hour working on, Gracia rose to her feet, smiling down at him again. "That's it, for now. Let me go check on Elicia, and then I'll see what I can do about getting you something to eat, all right?"

And with that, she'd turned and left him still lying on the bed, completely and utterly flummoxed, and alone with his thoughts of the ruined sight of that old picture.

* * *

Roy stared blankly down at the picture.

Then he looked up at Ed, standing uncomfortably before him, staring hard at the ground, looking almost painfully guilty and like he very much like just wanted to melt down into the floor and never be seen again.

He looked at the picture.

The places where it had been torn had been very carefully melded back together again. He could feel the imperfections because he it was in his hand, but it took a trained eye to notice the tiny signs of the transmutations, and even then, he had to look very closely for it. The wrinkles had been a little harder to get out of the old material, it seemed, but Ed had very clearly tried his best to do it. They were still noticeable, but to a much less severe degree. Where Roy had remembered the picture being bent almost in half, for example, was now only a faint crease.

The blood seemed to have been Ed's hardest task. Truth be told, Roy wasn't sure how the kid had done it; blood was notoriously difficult for alchemists to work with, but this- it looked as if the blood had slowly been bleached out of the material itself. Sure, he could still see signs of it, of course, it was hardly the original- the colors were faded to whites and greys wherever there had been blood stains, that was to say, everywhere, and there was one near a corner which seemed to have been so bad the entire area was completely white.

Roy slowly turned it over.

_Roy-boy: how am I supposed to show this off with you depressing the whole frame like this, you dork? Smile more often!_

_Graduation, 99_

The old, chicken scratch cursive was faded, too, looking in some parts to have been almost painfully reconstructed from whatever ruins had remained behind it. But it was legible. Every single letter of it was legible.

He'd had no idea Ed had even kept this, never mind been doing all of this. When the picture had quietly disappeared from his bedroom floor, leaving behind only bloodied glass shards, Roy had just assumed Ed had thrown the destroyed thing away, and then very purposefully put it out of his mind to hopefully never be thought of again.

His heart thudding, Roy stared back at Ed.

Ed shifted again, taking a small, ashamed step back. "I'm sorry," he mumbled to his feet. "I know it's horrible. I... I know I made it even worse than before... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I tried to fix it. It just... didn't work. Mrs. Hughes thought you'd- you'd like it or something, I don't- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I-" He made a grab for it, trying to yank it out of Roy's hand. "I'll throw it away, don't worry about-"

Roy swiftly lifted the picture up out of Ed's reach, taking utmost care not to crinkle or smudge it in the slightest, took a step closer, and pulled him in the tightest hug that he could.

Ed made a muffled sort of _oomph_ sound, the exclamation almost inaudible against his jacket, but somehow, Roy couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold in the slightest.

"...I am going to have this framed," he managed finally, voice thick, "and put it next to new copy Gracia gave me."

It took several seconds for Ed to do anything at all, clearly stunned into silence. When he finally did manage to speak, it was still muffled into his jacket, to the point that Roy could barely make out a quiet, still embarrassed, "Why? It's... ruined."

He sighed fondly. "Because you're an idiot, that's why," he chided softly, and lowered the hand still holding the messy, clumsy, perfect picture of blood, sweat, and tears down to rest on the top of Ed's head.


	20. T is for Terror

Ed was not happy.

In fact, _happy_ was probably the very furthest thing away from what he was, right now.

He paced back and forth yet again, chewing uncomfortably on his thumbnail despite the fact he'd bitten at it for so long now it was almost about to bleed. His prosthetic dug rudely into the carpet, making a distinctly loud _thump_ with every single step he took, and Ed had given up trying to muffle it a long time ago. Actually, the loud, rhythmic noise was almost soothing, in his state of near panic.

Or, at least, it had been almost soothing three hours ago. Now it, along with everything else, was driving him insane.

It was four in the morning, and Roy wasn't home.

No. No, let him rephrase that: _four_ in the fucking _morning._ And Roy, Roy Had-To-Be-At-Work-In-Four-Hours Mustang, _wasn't home._

At a little past seven, Ed had put it off towards the bastard running behind on paperwork or whatever, and buried himself back in his book. Once the clock had hit eight, he wondered a little at the strange emptiness that filled the house, but ultimately had put it aside yet again. Eight wasn't _that_ late. It could very easily have been just a bunch of deadlines catching up on him and the team- and besides, he knew as well as anyone how much of a slavedriver Hawkeye could be. He was just being easily worried and paranoid, _again,_ he'd told himself, and forcefully buried his face back in his book. It was high time for him to get over himself, and quit being so easily shaken up.

The fact that Mustang usually tried to call if he was going to be unreasonably late, just to let him know what was going on...

Well, that just didn't matter. Sure, Mustang had always tried to do that _before,_ but Ed was better now- he wasn't going to fall apart if the bastard went missing for an hour or two. For god's sake, he was a grown man; he was pretty sure he could handle a night or two to himself. And Mustang was a grown man, too; he probably hadn't liked being beholden like that, always having to remember about the fragile, unstable boy in his home and calling back whenever he had so much as a moderately late night. The bastard had probably just forgotten this time, or, better yet, realized Ed was doing much better now, and didn't need a call for every little thing.

This excuse held up.

Just barely.

For...

Okay, not even for a little while.

Because not even half an hour after he'd first thought it, one hand stuffing his starving face with whatever edible thing he'd first grabbed from the fridge, Ed had thrown his book back against the shelf and dived to the couch, already reaching for the phone.

There'd been no answer at his office. None at all.

And none the second time he'd called, either, just five seconds after the first.

But that- that didn't matter. That was still fine. Right? It wasn't as if Mustang only existed here at home or at the office. Maybe he'd gone out drinking or something. Yes. Yes, that was it- he'd just gone out drinking with his men, and- and that was it. That was all this was. And he was going to stumble in later, a little tipsy but completely fine, and Ed was just totally overreacting.

Except Roy never _had_ done that, not even once, not in all the months Ed had been hiding here.

Ed also distinctly remembered Roy telling him he that he didn't even drink anymore.

Ed scrubbed at his face with one hand, breathing hard and trying to force himself to calm down. Despite how much practice he'd gotten at yanking himself back from the edge like this, it never seemed to get any easier, and his heart just kept racing and his chest just kept feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise. _No._ This wasn't- no, no, he was just overreacting. He had to be! _Everything_ was _fine._ Just because he didn't see Roy for a couple hours- that didn't mean he was hurt, or- or _dead._ This wasn't Germany; this was the real world now, and they weren't even at war! Just right here, right in the middle of Central fucking City. Hell, Roy had probably spent most of his day holed up in one of the safest, most well-guarded places in the entire country- he didn't even take missions anymore! What, exactly, did he think had happened; he'd somehow gotten himself blown up while doing paperwork?

The thought, rather than making him laugh at his own stupidity, had been abruptly horrifying, and Ed had spent the next half hour desperately scrolling through radio stations, searching for the infinitely improbable possibility that HQ had actually been attacked, and Roy caught in the crossfire.

But no. Nothing. The radio gave him absolutely nothing aside from the late night dullness of regularly scheduled programming.

Which had left Ed at a complete and utter loss- and nearing a complete and utter panic, sitting there hopelessly, radio still blaring to his left, phone silent to his right, and Skullfire in his lap, glaring balefully at him as he roughly scratched down his back again and again in a near compulsion, desperate to keep moving, keep thinking, keep doing _something._ But there was nothing he could do. He didn't have a clue where to even start looking! The most likely candidate was still HQ, but Ed- no, god, no. Even if he could bring himself to go near that place, it was still just too risky. Sneak his way onto base, then sneak his way up to the top floors, all without having a damn clue where exactly he was going, and manage to find the bastard's office _without_ getting caught or recognized?

Hell no. He was an infamous risk taker, maybe, but even Ed knew that was just impossible.

But besides HQ, where else even was he supposed to look?

And why the fuck hadn't Roy _called_ him and just told him what was happening?!

A nervewracked, high-pitched laugh cracked out, almost startling him in its hysterical anxiety, and Ed doubled over to bury his face in one hand, the other still shaking against Skullfire. Fuck. Was this what Roy had felt like, whenever he'd headed off late at night and left him with no idea where he was? Was this revenge for that, or something? Was _that_ what this was supposed to be? Roy just giving him a taste of his own medicine?

God, at this point, Ed wouldn't even care if it was. He'd just be relieved that everything was okay.

...Well, he wouldn't care _now._ He'd beat the bastard up for it later, because if that was all this was, it was a fucking _asshole_ move and he would _kill_ Roy for it. But right here, right now, the way he felt, Ed knew he'd have room for nothing but relief if Roy stepped through the door, completely and perfectly fine, and telling him this was what he got for being such an inconsiderate ass.

Except, sitting here in the oppressive silence suffocating the otherwise empty home, Skullfire the only motion or noise in the entire house, somehow, Ed just didn't get the feeling that was how this was going to turn out.

He felt almost sick with unease, nearly shaking with building anxiety and foot tapping in a growing fear he just couldn't shake. Ed couldn't name what, exactly, the feeling was, but there was something wrong and he knew it. He was _certain_ of it. Roy wasn't at a bar, he wasn't asleep at his desk, he wasn't on a mission, and he wasn't doing this just to trick him. He didn't have a clue where he was or what he was doing, but something was _wrong._

Maybe he'd been in a car accident on the way home. Maybe that was it? Roy didn't drive himself, maybe whatever low-ranking grunt chauffeuring him around today had crashed and he was hurt and in the hospital? The weather wasn't that bad, but maybe- maybe- or, fuck, what if he'd never even made it into work at all? What if he'd crashed all the way back this morning and been fucking _killed_ and Ed had just been stupidly sitting here all day and never even thought it? He-

_Fuck-_

Ed gasped out another unsteady breath, nausea and terror fighting in his stomach, and there was no trying to catch his panic and stop it now; it was completely off the rails and he had gone with it. Fuck, what was he supposed to do if Roy was _dead?_ In one jaunting, horrifying moment, the world shifted, and suddenly Ed could see his cold, lonely, impossible new place in it. Sitting here in a dead man's dusty home, and completely utterly fucking _alone._ Gone from slowly managing to fight and crawl his way back to a place of normalcy to just... done. Screwed. Lost. Finished.

Because he didn't have fucking _anyone_ anymore- Roy really was all he had. Maybe it was selfish to think that way, that Roy only existed to be there for him, but right now he was just too panicked to stop himself. If Roy was dead, he had _nothing._

Ed had only barely survived it, when Al had died. He'd been forced and broken down to having nothing before, and only through this miracle of being thrust back here to Amestris, to Roy's home, had saved him- but there was no convenient other world with people who'd take care of him waiting to catch him this time. Because- because, yes, he could finally admit it now, he was _glad_ to have ended up here and been found by Roy and to have actually _lived._ He hadn't been for a very long time, wishing he'd just done the sensible thing and died in Germany with Al and ended all this fucking pain that was all life ever was, but he'd fought his way back and he could admit it out loud that he was honestly glad he'd made it back and to be here with Roy. But there was no second chance this time. There was nothing else. If anything _had_ happened to Roy, then that was it for him, too.

And now, Ed was just being a fucking lunatic, and had gone off the deep end to be a hysterical child and assume Roy was _dead_ just because he was few fucking hours late coming home from _work!_

No. _No, calm down, Ed, okay? Calm down, you utter MORON._ Once again forcing in a deep breath, he struggled to make himself just stop shaking and think. This was dumb. He was stupid. This was the biggest overreaction in the history of overreactions. Roy wasn't _dead._ He probably wasn't even hurt, but he certainly wasn't _dead._ And...

God, even- suspending all disbelief for just a moment, pretending to be far calmer than he really was- even if he _was_ dead, he wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't just be done and stop existing. He had other people. Izumi and Sig and Gracia and Elicia, they all knew he was back, they would all help him, he wouldn't just freak out endlessly in this empty house until he died. He had other people, he- he-

...couldn't fucking even imagine trying to survive anymore if Roy just up and vanished and died and was _gone,_ tearing everything away from for the second time, and he was left here alone.

But he _wasn't going to think about that._ Because that _wasn't what had happened._ Because Roy was _fine._ And when the bastard got back here, completely fine, Ed was- well, he was too strained and terrified to pretend any longer; he was probably not even going to be able to restrain himself and was probably just going to tackle the stupid idiot in a hug and scream at him for vanishing like this- but that didn't matter. Because Roy was _fine,_ and he was overreacting, and that was all this was.

Slowly, the clock ticked on. Skullfire hissed quietly, The radio faded into dead static.

And that was how the night found him, clock ticked to four fucking AM, and Roy, still gone.

Ed fidgeted again. Skullfire hissed at him for it, at last growing sick of his nest constantly moving and slipping around to jump off and slink away; as shaken as he was, Ed found himself only able to mildly regret the loss of the warm, living thing on his lap that had only barely been reducing his stress. He twitched, breathing out hard, and looked again to the dead radio, then the phone.

All he wanted was for the phone to ring, and Roy to be on the other line, and just tell him everything was okay.

Quite predictably, the phone did not ring.

And Ed didn't have any options.

He had no idea where to look for Roy. HQ, the most likely place he'd be, was out of the question. Any of the bars, or with his men somewhere- he didn't have a clue where to look for any of that. If he somehow actually _was_ hurt? Fuck, the military hospital sounded almost more dangerous to quietly try and prowl through than HQ.

He had no idea who to call. Roy obviously wasn't in his office, or if he was, he wasn't picking up his phone. Izumi would know even less than he did. Gracia- god, it was four in the morning. What was he even going to do, wake her up in the middle of the night to harass her about something she'd know nothing about? Just worry her like he spent most days worrying Roy?

Ed shook his head emphatically at himself, messy hair swishing out over his eyes as he trembled with the effort. No. He was not doing that.

Shaking his head again, once more an utterly failed effort to get himself calm, Ed sank back into the couch and just tried to breathe and think. No. He was completely overreacting. He was being stupid, and the moment Roy got home, because he would, because he was _fine,_ and the moment he got home and Ed threw himself at him in a stupid hug, the general was just going to laugh at him, because he was being an _idiot-_ and that was what was going to happen. There _was_ a sane explanation for all of this, he just... couldn't think of it. But he was overreacting, and there was one, and he was just going to force himself to stay calm, and wait here until Roy got back, and gave it to him.

Ed swallowed tightly, still shivering, and looked at the clock again.

He listened to it tick, and he waited.

Still no Roy.

* * *

Ed didn't sleep at all that night.

Or, strictly speaking, that morning, either.

All he really knew, still sitting there on the couch, now sore and nauseous and exhausted and shaking, was that it was now more than an hour since Roy was supposed to be at work- and there had still never been any sign of him.

He fidgeted shakily again, staring with exhausted eyes at the clock, then just sucked in a breath and buried his face back in his hands.

He wasn't going to freak out. This made sense, didn't it? If Roy had just been an idiot and gotten drunk or something, slept somewhere else, he wouldn't have had time to stop by here and assuage Ed's stupid worries. He just would've gone straight into work. That was all. It made sense the bastard hadn't come home. It was normal. It was okay. Everything was fucking _fine._

He stared nervously at the phone again.

The one problem with his theory was that, if that was all this was, Roy almost _certainly_ would've called him by now.

And he hadn't.

And Ed was _really_ fucking terrified now.

He knew it was stupid. He knew he should be better than this now, that just because something had gone a little wrong didn't mean this was Germany, where just one little thing going wrong could end up with someone _dead._ That didn't mean that. Roy was, in all likelihood, just, just-

Before Ed even knew what he was doing, the phone was back in his hand, and the number for Roy's office was punched in with one shaking hand.

This time, he got an answer.

And it gave him a fucking heart attack.

" _General Mustang's office; Major Hawkeye speaking. How may I help you?"_

Ed slammed the phone back down onto the receiver so hard it nearly bounced straight off to the floor and jerked back like it had bitten him, his heart pounding.

Hawkeye was answering the bastard's phone.

Hawkeye was answering the bastard's phone.

Why was Hawkeye answering the bastard's phone?

He wasn't there. He wasn't at work. He- he-

" _No!"_ he gasped aloud, trembling violently. No, he was overreacting! He had to be, he _had_ to be! Roy was just on a coffee break or something, that was all! He wasn't at his _desk;_ he could still easily be at work! Besides, Hawkeye had sounded calm, right? She wouldn't have sounded like that if Roy was missing. No, she'd sounded perfectly normal, like everything was okay, and she was just picking up her boss's phone to take a message like usual. That meant Hawkeye wasn't worried, and if she wasn't worried, he had no reason to be worried, right? _Right?_ Yes- yes, he'd just call back in half an hour or so, whenever the bastard had finished with whatever the hell he was doing, and he'd get Roy, and everything would be _fine,_ because it _had_ to be fine _._

Because he wouldn't be able to bear it if it wasn't fine.

Barely two minutes later, the phone was back in his hand again, and this time, he was dialing Gracia's number.

He hit her answering machine at the same moment that he remembered she would be at work, right now, and Elicia at school- and once again, Ed threw the phone back down with a panicked curse and jerked up to his feet to start to pace around the room.

He couldn't get in contact with Gracia. Izumi wouldn't know anything, period. That left him with not a single fucking soul he could go to for help, because Roy _wasn't answering the dammed phone._ Where _was_ he?! Didn't the bastard realize how fucking crazy irresponsible this was, didn't he _realize_ how fucking terrified Ed would be that something had happened to him?! He didn't care how embarrassing of an overreaction it was anymore; _yes,_ he was fucking frightened, and he was going to fucking scream it at Roy the second he saw him again, whether he was okay or not.

He shook in place, trembling as he reeled yet again to an almost panicked stop, and stared yet again at the fucking clock.

* * *

By the time it reached the afternoon, and Ed still hadn't heard a single fucking word from the god damn phone, he had finally eclipsed heart-stopping panic, and made his decision.

If Roy didn't come home tonight, he was going out, and finding him.

The bastard was almost always home by six. Ed had even sat down and calculated it out, in one of his more nervous moments earlier that day, scratching out the numbers for the past two weeks while Skullfire paced agitatedly around him, seeming put on edge just by Ed's shaking. 86% of the time, Roy was home by six- so Ed was going to be fucking generous, and give the bastard until six thirty. And if he wasn't home by six thirty, he was done with this, and going out to _find him._

Two more calls to his office had achieved nothing; once Hawkeye again, and then Havoc. Another call to Gracia's- still, nothing. The radio was on constantly, and he listened to it like a hawk, waiting for an story of an attack on headquarters or an attack on the Flame Alchemist or _anything_ that might key him in- but there was nothing. He even watched at the window, hiding in shadow to take note as the other generals on the street began to trickle home for the day and observing for any break in the pattern that might've indicated something going on at HQ. But still, there was nothing at all.

 _Nothing_ at _all_ to tell him that something was wrong- except this crushing sense of unease that had been building ever since last night and now had grown to the point of suffocating him in his solitude, because _Roy wasn't there._

And his mind pretty much ran haywire with the possibilities.

Car accident still reigned supreme, which was stupidly fucking mundane and horribly fucking terrifying all at once. A car accident could've killed him; car accidents _killed_ people. And it was the only fucking way he could've gotten hurt; he didn't take missions anymore, an assassination attempt against General Flame would've at least made the news... but him being hurt _did_ make the most sense. If he was in the hospital, it would explain why he hadn't come home, or maybe even called, what if he was unconscious-? It would've explained everything- but then, why had Hawkeye and Havoc sounded so calm and normal when they'd answered the phone...?

The only other remotely plausible possibility that Ed had thought up was equally unsettling, and possibly more horrifying.

There was a chance- a small one, but still, a real chance- that Roy wasn't hurt at all. That everything was completely fine, and he was just stuck at work, away from his desk, trapped in endless meetings somewhere- but not just serendipitously.

But because the other generals were trying to keep him away from a phone.

It was possible that Ed had been seen, and the other generals were trying to trick him into going outside to look for Roy by keeping Roy away.

Hell, it was possible they just knew Roy was hiding _something_ in his house, and by the way the general talked, the command council still would pretty much love to get rid of him- even without knowing it was _him,_ specifically, Roy was hiding, this plot was still possible. They could still be trying to trick him into going outside.

And if that was the case, he'd be playing right into their hands by doing it.

And Ed just couldn't care.

If he was playing into their hands, then- then, fuck it. He knew how the Amestrian military worked. Hell, he'd _been_ Amestrian military, for a damn long time. He could outwit and outrun them. He'd escape them, then circle back around and find Roy that way. He didn't care what he had to do or who he had to go through to do it- he was going to find Roy.

Because he didn't care about saving face anymore, or making himself look like he was okay and in control of himself anymore. _Yes,_ he would look fucking stupid when he finally came across Roy and quite clearly had been panicking all day, convincing himself of the worst when _nothing_ had even fucking happened and he was just being paranoid- none of that mattered to him anymore.

He couldn't stand to lose anyone again. He wouldn't survive it this time.

He was going to find Roy- he didn't care how dangerous it was to himself.

He was going to find him.

* * *

At six thirty, Ed was waiting at the door, hood pulled low over his face and hand on the knob.

Still no word from Roy.

At six thirty one, he was out on the street, and had set a path for Riza Hawkeye's apartment.


	21. U is for Überängstlich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whhhhaaa I'm so sorry! Family came into town to visit for the weekend and basically I ended up far more swamped than I thought I would be. Author is so sorry :(
> 
> Überänsgtlich: German for overanxious, panicky. (...don't look at me like that... U words are a damn disaster okay...)

The drive to their destination was silent.

Ed stared valiantly out the window, focused dully on the darkness streaming by, and said nothing at all.

He tried not to feel the tension and nerves beating hard inside him. He failed miserably the entire time.

"...Ed?"

Once again, he fidgeted so hard he nearly caught his prosthetic hand in the seatbelt.

He was positive that he could actually feel Hawkeye's gaze drilling into the back of his neck, and once again, he found himself saying nothing.

But, just as he'd remembered her to be, Hawkeye was not one to be baited into not pushing her point just by his non-answer. Because, after several long beats of uncomfortable quiet in the car, the silence broken only by the steady thrum of the engine, the major cleared her throat, and spoke again.

"I know you said to wait until after we've seen the general to interrogate you, and I will. But, Ed... at least answer me this. You said that you've been home for almost five months, now?"

Slowly, still staring stubbornly out the blurry window, Ed forced himself to nod.

His heart was beating so fast it almost felt like it was trying to burst out of his chest.

"...Right," Hawkeye said slowly, her voice implacable. "Five months. ...Right around the time General Mustang suddenly became just... miserable. Almost more miserable than I've ever seen him." She paused, and once again, Ed could almost feel her hard gaze drilling into the back of his neck. "...You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Ed?"

He slunk a little further back into his seat, heart beating harder with guilt, and stared very stubbornly out the window.

Words were still pretty much beyond him, by this point, but he somehow managed to force himself into a nonchalant, noncommittal shrug.

For several seconds, there was no sound except the car, and Ed's own fast, unsteady breathing.

"...I see." Hawkeye paused again, and Ed just reflexively shut his eyes so he could maybe stop imagining her _staring_ at him like that. Her voice was still implacable, at least, not the angry judgment or accusation he knew he deserved- but maybe that just made it worse.

Her next words, however, he had not been expecting.

"And you've also been here while he's gotten better."

Once again, Ed just couldn't think of anything to say. At this point, he wasn't sure if he'd said so much as a single word ever since following her out to the car.

He hunched down a little lower, cheeks flushing, and lowered his gaze from the window to stare at his lap.

While this small interrogation was far from the worst of what he'd been expecting, it was still so uncomfortable and full of guilt that he found himself just sitting there like a silent lump, unable to so much as look the sniper in the eye.

And then, finally, Hawkeye passed down her last judgment.

"I knew something strange was going on with him," she murmured, more to herself than him- and he could almost hear her smiling. Then, more directly at him: "In that case- we will discuss this later. _All_ of it, Ed. But, for now... I am glad for both of you, Ed."

She didn't say anything more for the rest of the drive, nor did she look at him- but when Ed finally got himself to turn around enough to stare at her, she wore a very faint smile.

* * *

" _Get out of my way!"_

"General, _please_ -"

"Get out of my way or I'll _roast_ you out of it! _Move!"_

"Just sit down, you can't-"

" _Move! That's a direct order!"_

And for the tenth time in the last two minutes, Jean found himself, rather than following this so-called direct order, instead stopping his superior officer from meeting the floor in a faceplant.

"Come _on,_ sir," he tried to cajole yet again, holding him with a steadying grip on his shoulders despite the sloppy, uncoordinated, irritated attempts at throwing him off. By the looks of it, without his hands, Mustang really would be flat on the floor. "Just calm down, will you? There's no need for any of this..."

Mustang, however, did not seem very interested in calming down, at the moment- or being sane. "Let me _go!"_ he growled yet again, this time with such a violent shrug he managed to dislodge his hands, and yet again tried to lurch to his feet. "I have to go home! There's something I have to do- you don't understand-!"

Sighing, Jean took a few steps back to barricade the doorway instead, since it seemed like his attempts to wrestle his superior back down were doomed to failure. "Look, it's just for another night. There's nothing you have to go home for, Hawkeye's taken care of everything, sir-"

"No, she hasn't! Havoc, _move!"_

"Move so I can what, watch you pass out in the hall?" he grumbled back, starting to lose his patience now. Of all people, he _would_ be the one stuck with overnight guard duty for his superior at his most difficult... "Boss, you've been unconscious for two days; you're not going anywhere. You look dead on your feet anyway; what's the harm just sleeping here instead of at home for one more-"

"That's the problem!" Mustang cried desperately, eye wide and almost wild with desperation. "I've been here for two days- Havoc, you don't understand, I _have_ to go home, or- or at least make a phone call, god, I-" With a frustrated groan, the general yet again started to waver to his feet only to collapse backwards when he lost his balance, eye going out of focus and legs suddenly failing to support his weight. His bad leg seemed even worse than normal, derailing his already dizzy progress with a severe limp; the bed was only there to catch him simply because he'd never managed to get more than a step away from it- but, to Jean's dismay, this repeated failure didn't seem to dishearten him to his single-minded mission in the slightest. "Damn it, Havoc!" he gasped hoarsely, now holding his head in his hands, eye shut tight in pain or vertigo or both. "Get me to a phone _now._ That's an order!"

Well, he seemed to have finally grasped that he was in no shape to go home, but Jean found it hard to be relieved, looking at him like that. Since it didn't seem like guarding the door was all that necessary, at this point, he tentatively approached him again, trying to lower his voice back to something more persuasive rather than the more irritated grumble he felt like. "Sir, be reasonable... you can't even stand. You'll never make it all the way to the phone..." He started to get down on his knees in front of him, but found himself only more worried rather than relieved; it seemed as if the only reason Mustang hadn't shoved him back was that he was too dizzy or out of it to manage it. God, he hadn't seen him this upset or angry in years... what was going _on?_

"Just- sir, just tell me whatever message you need to get out, and I could go take care of it for you?" he tried weakly. "You won't make it to the phone-"

"No! _No!"_ he cried again, almost sounding like a petulant child- but he was far too distressed and panicked, breathing hard even as he made another valiant but failed attempt at getting to his feet. "No, you can't just pass along the message for me! This isn't up for debate; _move,_ damn it!"

"Sir..." Jean shook his head weakly, already racking his mind for anything, anything at all that would get this to make sense- but he couldn't. Was he delirious or confused? Should he go get a doctor? Had the blow to he head been worse than they'd thought? _Mustang_ certainly seemed to think he was in his right mind, but none of this was making any sense to Jean, and the general wasn't trying to explain.

For the first time in two days, just barely ten minutes ago, Mustang had finally opened his eye. He'd been bleary-eyed, confused, and exhausted, all of which Jean had expected, and the exhaustion had made him more pliable than normal, allowing Jean to quietly explain what had happened and keep him calm.

Or so he'd thought.

Because all such efforts had been destroyed _instantly,_ on the answer to his sleepy question of how long he'd been there for.

Mustang had frozen. He'd gone stock still with nothing except a rattling gasp, the hand previously massaging his forehead jerking to be paralyzed in mid-air, jaw clenching and muscles going tight. He'd just laid there like that for one single, nervewracking moment, eye blown wide, face bleached white, and expression frozen with all of the tension like Jean had just told him the city had been destroyed.

And then, he'd panicked.

Jean had since spent the last five minutes trying to calm down his dizzy, ill, and probably delirious superior and keep him in bed. He'd failed miserably on both accounts.

Mustang wouldn't say what was wrong, or what exactly it was that he had to do, why it had to be done now, and why he had to be the one to do it. All he'd done was insist, first on going home, then, when it had become apparent he could barely even stand, at least making a phone call.

And he still had no idea why, but he was starting to worry that if his boss kept on like this, he was going to have to get a doctor so they could check his head again.

Jean sighed heavily, sitting back on his heels to take a better look at him again. Mustang slouched, veering almost dangerously to one side, supported by one hand and face hidden in the other. His face was still drained, looking almost unsettlingly white against his black hair and eyepatch. Despite his slumped position, he still looked just a second or two away from straining to get up again, trembling on the edge of the bed and gaze darting wildly over everything but him. His breaths were short and strained, panicked because of something he just didn't understand, hair plastered against the bloodied bandages around his head- but no matter how much he looked like he should just lie down again and relax, it was very clear those were not his intentions in the slightest.

"Sir..." he started again, voice still low, aiming for something hopefully persuasive and convincing. "Sir, if it's really so important it can't wait until tomorrow, just give me the message. I can call them for y-"

" _No!"_

"General, pl-"

"I said _no,_ Havoc!" The hand he threw out to push him back was more uncoordinated and sloppy than an actual effective blow but Jean reeled back all the same, shocked beyond words. The general still looked half drunk and barely in his right mind, eye bloodshot and unfocused but fiery yet with some still unspoken life in him as his nearly incapacitated commander made yet another lurching attempt to get to his feet. "I'm your superior officer and I'm giving you an order to stand aside! You can't make the call for me, it can't wait until tomorrow morning, it has to be me and it has to happen _now!_ So either get me to a phone, or get out of my way!"

"...No."

For one long, desperate moment, Mustang just sat there, panting and staring at him with a a wild-eyed look of frantic need and desperation. But when Jean refused to so much as budge, that seemed to be the only stimulus he'd needed to snap.

Figuratively, thank god.

Mustang feinted left, but it was a pretty pathetic feint; Jean knew the second he saw him turning towards his blind side what he was trying to do. He held out his arm to stop him, already starting to groan with the annoyance of it-

Then found himself bowled over straight to the floor.

Jean gasped again, still more shocked than anything else when the bare foot collided with his chest to topple him backwards. It wasn't hard enough to hurt but the kick at all _completely_ threw him off; he hadn't guessed Mustang was this motivated to- to _what,_ for god's sake? Make a phone call that anyone else could've very easily made in his place? What the hell was wrong with him?!

"Damn it, General, stop!" He shot upright, and cheap blow or not, Mustang still hadn't managed to get far; Jean caught up with him before the drunken stagger had even reached the door and latched both his arms around him, hauling him backwards from the door. "Just sit down and stop this already!" he gasped, seriously alarmed now. "Sir-..." He had to have hit his head much harder than they'd thought. That was the only thing that made sense. There was no other reason for him to acting like this, even now fighting to push his arms off and make a run for it, and Jean was left between manhandling back to lie down in a definite breach of boundaries or just standing there mid-wrestle, forcing him back from the door with every step he took. "Sir, please be rational about this! You don't have anyone you need to call! Just sit down, let me get a doctor-"

"Let me _go,_ Ha- _ah!"_

" _Sir!"_

They landed on the floor together, Mustang's already perilous sense of balance giving out completely and the general dropping like a deadweight. Jean dove after him, frantically trying to stop his superior from hitting his head _again,_ and this time, he took immediate action. Without giving Mustang the chance to rise again, he yanked one limp arm around his shoulders and forcibly hauled him back across the room, sitting his trembling superior back down on his bed and ready to keep him there, this time. His eye was completely unfocused again, staring almost blindly past him as the man fought to get himself back under control- but Jean wasn't going to wait around for that to happen-

The door creaked open behind him before he could yell for a doctor, and he started to sigh in relief. "Thank god," he muttered under his breath, turning. "Nurse, can you-"

He stopped, blinking in speechless disbelief.

It wasn't a nurse.

" _Hawkeye!"_ Mustang gasped hoarsely behind him, making another fruitless attempt to throw him off. "Hawkeye, I _have_ to make a phone call- damn you, Havoc, get _off-"_

Jean struggled again, still fighting to keep him down even as he turned more to face the sharpshooter, who looked strangely unsurprised by the scene she'd walked in on. "Hawkeye, I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with him; he keeps fighting with me about needing to go home or call someone- I don't know, he only just woke up, I think he might be delirious- sir, _please-_ "

"He's not delirious," Hawkeye cut in quietly. Her eyes were still implacable- and her words, impossible.

"...What?" he trailed off confusedly, nearly gaping at her. How did she- never mind how did she know; where the hell had she even come from? It was after ten at night! She was supposed to be at home! "Hawkeye, what's-"

" _Thank you,_ Major," Mustang gasped, sounding intensely relieved that he was finally being listened to, then threw off the hand on his shoulder again. God, he was like a five year old; unwilling to sit still, so stubborn Jean couldn't risk letting up for a second- "So if you'll- you'll just h-help me make it, to a- a phone, then-..."

Jean cursed; damn it, he didn't even _sound_ like he'd be able to make it down the hallway anymore, why was he still talking like this? "Hawkeye, please, maybe he'll listen to you; get him to stop this! He's going to hurt himself-"

Hawkeye simply shook her head quietly, but not at him; she wasn't even looking at him, but her eyes, the way she was staring at Mustang... she knew something that he didn't, he realized with a jolt. There was something very, very off here, this was something more than a badly concussed Mustang rambling out of his mind- and she knew what it was.

"There's no need for you to make that phone call, sir," she said, quietly still, quietly and _knowingly-_ and then she stepped aside, and pulled someone else from the hallway back into the room with her.

Once again, Mustang went stock still, and Jean was left to gape.

It was perfectly silent for several moments, Mustang just staring, and Jean staring between his superior and Hawkeye's odd expression and the strange, small, hooded figure. But then, recovering himself just like that, Mustang lurched upwards yet again, this time not throwing himself out of reach but just staring at the newcomer like he'd been smacked across the face. "No... no, what are you- what are you _doing_ here?!" He reached for him, face again going white with horror. "You can't be here! This is dangerous! You can't be seen out here! No- no, god, what were you thinking?! I was just going to call y-"

And then the stranger just hurtled silently forward, lunging for the narrow bed, and threw his arms around Mustang in a wordless hug.

The motion forced the hood down on his head, and for the second time in one minute, Jean Havoc was left speechless.

Edward Elric, missing and presumed dead for seven years, fully alive Edward Elric, was hugging Mustang.

It stayed silent.

And somehow, Jean found himself even more shocked when, after several slow, still wordless moments, the tension and horror on Mustang's face relaxed into exhausted relief- and the general hugged him back.

"I'm so sorry," the general said weakly after a moment, one hand resting on Ed's trembling back. His voice was thick with misery and regret."I just woke up, I was going to call you- I only woke up five minutes ago. Ed, I didn't-"

"I know," Ed choked out, voice so small and muffled and it had been seven years; if it hadn't been for the sight of the kid right there in front of him, Jean honestly wouldn't have recognized it as Ed's at all. There was a long moment of uncertain silence, and then, Ed slowly tightened his grip on Mustang and buried his face in his shoulder.

* * *

When Riza had come home that night, folders under her arm and eyes tired at half past seven, she'd nearly shot and killed the quiet intruder waiting silently for her in the corner of her home.

It wasn't her fault. Breaking into a military officer's place of residence was not a life choice that had a long life expectancy, and she had not given any other course of action a moment's thought; it had only been Ed's quick words that had saved his own life- and stunned her, just as Havoc was now stunned, into complete inaction.

After all, while Roy had been rather tight-lipped about just what it was that had gone on the day the Fullmetal Alchemist had returned, now nearly six years ago today, he'd told them all enough to know the Elrics were as good as dead. Not _dead_ in that they no longer existed- but dead in that they were never going to see them again.

She certainly had never expected to find Ed broken into her apartment, of all places, and rather than explaining just where the hell he'd been all these years, just demanding for her to tell him what had happened to Roy.

"It seems," she told Havoc, who was still staring, dumbstruck, at the impossible sight before them now, "that General Mustang has had a houseguest for a rather long time now."

Havoc just continued to stare blankly, and Riza, smiling slightly, followed his gaze as well. She told him quietly what little she knew, which didn't take long, because she knew next to nothing, and all the while, didn't take her eyes off where Ed had now half-climbed on the edge of the hospital bed, latched around Roy- and Roy just sat there, hugging him back.

"I'm okay," the general said quietly again, his eye dark and distant in an almost painful way. "I'm okay, Ed, I promise."

"I k- _know,"_ Ed choked back, his voice something broken but with an undercurrent of stubborn steel.

"...You thought I was hurt, didn't you."

The words were said with a weak smile but there was certainly nothing happy about them. They sounded almost as sad as Ed looked, even as the teen abruptly shook his head with a muffled sort of stubborn cough. _"No,"_ he snapped sourly, voice thick.

Then, just as suddenly Ed shoved back, stumbling a pace backwards to shove almost violently at Roy's shoulder, forcing him back as well far enough to meet his gaze eye-to-eye. "I thought you were _dead,_ you dumb bastard," he gasped, rubbing a trembling hand across his face, then pushed weakly at his shoulder again.

Roy somehow managed a pathetic sort of smirk, but he still didn't look all that confident. "I'd never let a falling _building_ kill me."

"Shut _up,"_ Ed nearly growled, voice shaking, and just stood there with his head down and shoulders trembling violently for one long moment before he just stepped back forward and pulled a surprised Roy back into a hug.

After several long moments, though, as if finally remembering their audience, Ed stepped back, face slightly red and nervous eyes on the floor. He fidgeted uncomfortably, gaze darting up for just a second to land on Havoc before just gluing back to his feet.

Roy cleared his throat in the awkward silence, eye traveling between the two of them carefully. "Thank you for handling this so well, Major. I can't imagine this wasn't a... shock, for you."

She smiled slightly, even as she gave him a Look that said this would be discussed later. "When I told Edward what had happened to you, I could tell he wasn't really put at ease. I decided it would be best to just take him to see you were all right for himself... luckily, it seems, based on what we walked on."

Roy didn't even have the grace to look abashed, at that, just nodding darkly as he turned away- then twisted back to Ed with a start. "You sought her out? She didn't find you?"

Ed glared right back, eyes fierce and jaw tight. "What was I supposed to do?! Don't tell me it was dangerous for me to go outside! You'd been- _gone_ for two whole days- no one helpful was answering their phones- I... I had to find you!" He flushed darker, fists clenching by his sides. "It's your fault for having a building fall on your head in the first place! Why didn't you get yourself hurt in a way that radio would've told me about it, you ass?!"

"It wasn't a building. It was a _piece_ of _flaming_ building. And it is not my fault that this building on fire wasn't famous enough for it to headline the evening news, Ed."

"It _is,"_ Ed shot back just as stubbornly, but his voice was wavering again, and he dropped his gaze back down to his feet in an almost embarrassed display. "Why the hell you'd go in there in the first place. You told me you didn't missions anymore!"

"...Because there were people still in there," Roy said simply, voice quiet like that explained it all. And it did. "It wasn't a mission... there was a fire, and I could help. That's all."

"Help get yourself clocked in the head with rubble, you mean," Ed muttered back sullenly, still glaring at the floor- and Roy just rolled his eye and remained silent.

Riza cleared her throat after several moments again, since the two almost seemed to have forgotten their current location or that they had an audience. Again, both alchemists started, shifting back to look at her as if they really had forgotten she was in the room, and she found herself having to hold back a smile. "Well... if everything's been settled, then..."

"I'm staying here with Roy-"

"I'm going home with Ed-"

The alchemists stopped again, each blinking as they turned to stare at each other. She sighed, somewhere between impatient and amused now, and gestured at Ed again. "Sir, you're staying here."

"I'm not." Calmly, like this was the only logical thing to do in the world, Roy again pushed himself up straighter and put his feet back on the floor- though he at lost stopped before he actually stood, saving them from having to stop him from a faceplant again. He seemed to at least have figured out that trying to stand was a monumentally foolish idea. "There's no reason for me to stay here, Hawkeye," he insisted calmly, insisted like he was barely managing to sit upright or he hadn't just woken up after two days unconscious or there _wasn't_ blood on his face. "They always try to keep you, with head injuries, but there's never any reason, I can recover at home just as well as-"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the best way to _not_ attract attention isn't to run off from the hospital when it's the middle of the night and you have a skull fracture. And," she gave Ed a heavy look, "I'd think attention is something you might want to avoid."

The answering looks she earned with this were nothing short of comical. Roy looked as put out and betrayed as a miserable puppy, staring at her like _she_ was the one causing the problem here, not just the one pointing it out, whereas Ed just plopped right down to sit right next him, folding his arms and planting his feet on the floor. "Then I'll stay," he said simply, again, like it was the only logical choice in the world, and Riza groaned.

It had been seven years, but somehow, neither one of them had got even slightly easier to deal with.

"I'm pretty sure having a stranger stay the night in here is _also_ not the way to attract attention," she pointed out dryly. "The only reason Havoc's allowed is for the general's security detail."

"Security-" Ed's eyes widened, and suddenly he was turning back around to stare at Roy again, paling as he started to push himself up straighter. "You never said anything about needing-"

"Ed. It's normal. Standard procedure, that's all." Roy made a face, clearly irritated with it all, but then just smiled slightly back at Ed, plainly trying to reassure him. "I'm a general, and I'm hospitalized. ...Technically." He made annoyed another face, this one showing just how unnecessary he thought his current state, then sighed. "It's just standard procedure to have a security detail."

But Ed only remained silent, clearly still worried about him and reluctant to leave. He gnawed on his lower lip, shifting uncertainly, and Riza found herself sharing a look with a still rather stunned Havoc. Though he wasn't outright saying it, it was very clear Ed was worried for Roy's sake, to the point that he was willing to spend the night in the hospital just to be close to him. Edward Elric- the boy who had once made a habit out of breaking out of hospitals, no matter how serious his injury. For Roy's sake.

And, what was more, by the way Roy was reacting, he wasn't startled by this in the slightest. Whatever this strange new dynamic was, shifted from the inherently argumentative one she remembered, it was clear it had been developing for a _while._

Suddenly, the strange ways her superior had slowly been changing over these past several months finally began to make sense.

Roy sighed heavily, finally resigned to spending the night in the hospital himself, but he put a hand on Ed's shoulder and tried to meet his eyes, pushing him a little back towards the door. "Hawkeye's right," he said quietly. "It'll attract too much attention if I try and leave now, but you can't stay here. Just... I'm sorry, Ed, you'll just have to go back home with her." He pushed again at his shoulder, this time narrowing his eye to try and get a closer look at him, then frowned. "You idiot, you look like you haven't slept at all. Knowing you, you probably _haven't._ You don't need to be staying up all night here for no reason; just go home with Hawkeye, Ed, and get some _sleep._ It'll be fine. Havoc'll be here to watch me," he said, jabbing a thumb over at his subordinate, "so this time I really _won't_ get into any trouble, flaming buildings or otherwise."

Havoc coughed quietly, muttering something suspiciously that sounded like Mustang finding trouble all on his own no matter who was there watching him, but at that moment, Roy only had eyes for Ed. The young alchemist still didn't seem very pleased by the notion, looking just stubborn enough to try and put his foot down to stay- but when he looked around, and realized everyone was against him, he deflated like a popped balloon.

Roy sighed regretfully again, looking just as unhappy about all of this as Ed. "I'll be fine," he repeated, a little quieter now, and when he turned his gaze reluctantly back towards her, his hand stayed on Ed's shoulder. "Hawkeye," he said, clearing his throat. "Thank you so much for taking care of this. If we can just indulge you for a little while longer..."

She nodded without hesitation, lowering her gaze to Ed as well. "It'll be far from the least you've asked of us, sir," and this, like all the rest, was something she had absolutely no qualms in fulfilling. Keeping Ed safe- even if, at the moment, that seemed only to be from himself- wasn't anything that she could ever say no to... no matter how stunned she was that he was even still alive in the first place. "Just to clarify," she said after a moment, "when you're telling me to watch Ed, you're also telling me to keep this quiet from the military? I'm only assuming, since it's apparent he's been back for some time now, and you never saw fit to inform us."

There was just a hint of accusation in those words, a reminder that this deceit _would_ be returned to at a more appropriate time, and Roy didn't even wince, just nodding in silent acceptance like he'd expected this all along. "Yes. That goes for you, too, Havoc. Ed's return isn't something to publicize, just yet. I'm sorry to ask you all to keep even more secrets, but we're not ready to-"

"R-... Roy?"

Roy barely looked at Ed, still glancing between her and Havoc as if trying to assess their willingness to help him hide this- as if they would ever say no to helping Ed like this. "Don't worry, Ed," he started distractedly, "we'll still be able to keep you hidden, just-"

"Th-that's... actually, I don't..." Ed broke off, eyes wide and voice small, looking as if he almost didn't know how to say what he was thinking. When Roy stopped again, actually looking back at him this time in surprise, the teen just kept his head and eyes down, fidgeting again. "I don't need them to keep this a secret anymore."

Roy blinked.

Then, surprise transformed into shock, and he sat there to just openly gape at Ed.

Slowly, Riza exchanged another uncertain look with Havoc, just as utterly lost as he was, then looked back at the two alchemists.

She was definitely going to have a talk with Roy about keeping things from them once this was all over.

"Ed-" Roy finally started again, for the first time looking as bleary-eyed and confused as his concussion would warrant. He started to reach a hand forward shakily again. "Ed, what are you talking about? They'll keep this quiet, it's not a problem, it'll-"

"No, I know that, I- I'm saying they don't _need_ to. Not anymore." He hesitated again, still looking uncomfortably away from them all, and as completely out of the loop as Riza felt on this, she could at least see that this was a big deal to _them,_ and so she kept her questions silent. "I knew before I ever went outside tonight that there was a chance I wouldn't be able to take this back. That going out like that, to Hawkeye, would be permanent- that I wouldn't be able to hide anymore. ...I decided I had to be okay with that. And I am. ...I'm ready to come back, Roy."

He shrugged a little then, gaze downcast, seeming as if he was trying to downplay it- but by the look on Roy's face, Riza had no doubt how important this declaration was to the both of them.

Once again, it was as if they weren't even the room at all. Roy paid no attention to either of them as he moved closer to Ed, and Ed wasn't even _looking_ at anyone, still staring at the floor as he was uncomfortable with all the attention. Neither made any attempt to explain his decision to them- but Riza somehow didn't need Roy to tell her to understand what was going on.

Ed had been back here for five months, hiding with Roy the entire time.

And by the sound of it- by all the new scars she'd seen and the way he tended to avoid looking her in the eye and the way he'd desperately thrown himself at Roy the moment he'd seen he was all right, he'd been hiding with Roy because he'd been too shaken and scared and hurt to face the rest of the world.

And he wasn't anymore.

Roy swung around carefully, moving so he sat directly in between them and Ed, completely blocking their view of them. She couldn't see her superior's face anymore an just silently watched with Havoc as he put his hand back on Ed's shoulder, holing him in place and forcing him to look up from the floor. "Ed," he said at last, "are you absolutely sure about this?"

With Roy blocking them, she could barely see Ed at all- but she could at least manage to watch his slow, tentative- but unhesitant nod.

Roy sighed heavily. "...All right, then," was all he said aloud, but the weight of what was left unsaid was enormous. His hand stayed on Ed's shoulder, holding him back away from them, and neither spoke, but Riza could see that the light in Ed's eyes, at long last, was certain.

At long last, whatever Roy was searching for, he found. "Okay," he sighed, permission, almost, then laughed weakly even as he pulled Ed a little closer. "Just promise me you'll at least stay in hiding until I can go in with you. I want to be there. Tomorrow morning?"

Ed nodded again, not even a hint of reluctance about it, and Roy sighed in relief. "Good. I'm meet you at Hawkeye's. Havoc will drive me." He finally turned back to acknowledge them, almost looking a little apologetic about asking them to do this without any explanation, when they'd already been lied to for so long and apparently were going to be left in the dark for a little bit more. She could see it in his eye that he was going to tell them what he could, and soon- but right now, with Ed standing small and shaken behind him, and in a public hospital with too many potential listening ears nearby and around them, was just not that time, and for now, she would, once again, have to follow his order without question.

She nodded once back and knew that, next to her, Havoc had done the same.

The relief in Roy's eye was the only answer she needed.

Clearing her throat, since it looked like neither of the alchemists were eager enough to separate that they would do it themselves, Riza took a small step forward, holding out her hand to Ed again. "Come on. We've somehow avoided attention so far, but the longer we stay the more we risk attracting attention."

Roy nodded first, reluctant but at least accepting the facts, and he gave Ed a slight push, trying to get him moving. "Of course. Ed, stay with Hawkeye for the night- and _sleep_ , damn it. I'll link back with you two tomorrow morning, and we'll... we'll go to the military then." He glanced uncertainly at her again, hand still gently pushing Ed in her direction. "If you don't mind, could you swing back by my place and pick up Skullfire? So you can feed him?"

But Riza wasn't stupid, and she knew from the look in his eye that the request had nothing to do with his pet, and everything to do with soothing Ed.

Seemed she'd be getting another animal in the house for the night.

"Skullfire?" Havoc spoke up uncertainly from by the door, testing the waters a little. "Isn't that your demon cat?"

Roy scowled, grumbling out a short, unhappy sort of laugh, while Ed finally looked back up at them for the first in minutes, pale and withdrawn but some certainty and _life_ finally back in his eyes again. "Skullfire is an angel cat. The bastard over here is the demon." He glanced back at Roy over his shoulder once, frowning sulkily at him- and then, with a deep breath to prepare himself, crossed the room to stand next to Hawkeye.

"Tomorrow morning, then," he said quietly, gaze downcast. Then, with another heavy, shaking breath, he spun back to glare at Roy again, eyes narrowed. "And you had better show up then, bastard," he threatened steadily, though there was something else strange in his voice that she couldn't quite identify, the same uneasy worry that had been present in him all night. "I don't care if the whole city's on fire; you can just be a _normal_ fucking person and not run headfirst into a flaming building, because normal fucking people have friends who'll be fucking mad if anything happens to them. I'll kick your ass if you don't."

To her surprise, Roy merely smirked quietly at the words, not protesting as he might've once done or pointing out that, among them all, Ed had probably ended up in the most flaming buildings _combined._ He just nodded, even raising a hand in a pathetic sort of lazy half-salute, and made a little _shooing_ motion to send Ed off. "I'll keep safe if you can somehow finally manage it yourself, Ed."

Ed scowled darkly, annoyed now and looking just this side of sticking his tongue out at him, stomping theatrically back towards the door. Riza, smiling softly again, was about to follow him- then stopped, when, the moment Ed's back was turned, Roy waved silently for her to join him.

All it took was a look at Havoc to get the man to turn his back, slipping over to Ed to keep him occupied. That done, she turned back to Roy, her brow furrowed in a silent question.

He pulled her closer like she had Ed, reaching out for a folder sitting nearby, something inconsequential it looked like Havoc had probably been working on while waiting for him to wake up. "And if you don't mind taking care of this, too; I think this paperwork needs to be filed by tomorrow afternoon-" he started loudly, just loud enough for Ed to hear, and pulled her closer again.

"Have you asked him about Al yet?"

At the soft whisper by her ear, Riza stiffened.

Slowly, she shook her head again.

The quiet, almost miserable note in Roy's answering sigh was not what she'd wanted to hear.

"Don't," he told her back, just as quietly, and pulled back before she was able to.

Silently, looking her steadily back right in the eye, his face completely devoid of the amusement and light that had been there just five seconds ago and eye as dark as the night outside, he shook his head.

Again, that was all he had to do- and everything she hadn't wanted to see.

With a quiet, shuddering sigh, she nodded back, not risking saying anything aloud, then turned on her heel back to face Ed and Havoc. She'd arranged her face back in a proper mask before she'd even reached them, and had managed to keep her voice light and carefree again as she returned to Ed's side, again prodding him a little towards the door with one hand and pulling his hood back up with the other.

Ed sent one last look back at Roy, Roy who gave a dumb little wave back, Roy who looked just as properly calm as he should with the only hint of what he'd just told her the faint shadow in his eye, and Riza lowered her eyes to the floor, silently leading the way back outside.


	22. V is for Veritas

"I'm not too worried. Relatively, I mean. It could be so much worse than it is," Roy said, his fingers tapping an arrhythmic pattern against the cool glass of the window. His one stared distantly out into the early morning fog outside while his fingers continued to twitch. "I've checked into it, and he's still listed as MIA, not AWOL. So things are in our favor."

Jean smirked slightly, watching as his superior continued to fidget. "Right, sir."

"And, as a State Alchemist, he's under my direct command. So I'll have more influence to exert than usual." He shrugged absentmindedly again, then pulled at his seatbelt, seeming almost incapable of sitting still. "When he first went missing, the idea was that he'd been killed or kidnapped, not deserted, so hopefully we can keep up with that story and prevent this from becoming a court martial. Hopefully."

Once again, Jean smirked, and bit his tongue to stop himself from calling the general out. "Of course, sir."

Roy still went on, continuing to stare out the window but now fidgeting with the stitches on his head, itching and poking and prodding them as if _they_ were the cause of his distress. "And- and of course," he coughed, "Ed is still quite a well known and popular figure. The people will side with him over the military any day. If Hakuro wants to try and push for a court martial, a little anonymous tip to the media will make things quite unpleasant for him." He managed another slight, tense smile, but his gaze was still focused out the window, and a glance down in his lap showed his hands were clenched tight into white-knuckled fists.

"...Of course,"Jean said slowly again, fighting back a little grin of his own. "So, what you're saying is, you expect everything to work out fine."

"What?" Roy blinked, startled, turning to stare back at him, looking almost as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone in the car. "Oh. Yes. Of course." And he turned back to stare out the window, fingers still twitching, jaw still clenched, and eye still narrow.

"...Right. So... why are you fidgeting over there like you're about to have an aneurysm?"

Roy stiffened. Finally, for the first time since Jean had pulled out of the hospital parking lot, he stopped twitching, the hand that had been itching once again at his seatbelt falling still. The nervous tension contorting his face was wiped clean with a single, wide-eyed blink.

Then, scowling, he went back to it all over again, but this time after he'd sent a wordless, sullen glare back in Jean's direction.

Laughing, Jean started to turn down Hawkeye's street, letting his face be overtaken by an unabashed grin.

* * *

When they finally pulled up into his adjutant's driveway, Roy took a deep breath, fighting to keep his hands from shaking, and got out of the car.

It was barely a little past seven; still grey, foggy, and chilly outside, but just late enough that he knew headquarters was already starting their work day. It had been a struggle to get the hospital to even release him this early in the first place, but he just hadn't been able to sit still any longer. He hadn't been able to go back to sleep after Ed had left, with the room being made no more comfortable by the fact that Havoc was there, staring at him expectantly for an explanation that he could not give the entire time. It wasn't that Roy thought he didn't deserve one- because he did; all his subordinates did, and would have to get one- but so much of this story was _Ed'_ s to tell. There'd been just so little he could tell him without feeling like he was betraying Ed's confidence that it felt like he hadn't said anything at all.

Havoc had seemed to understand, at least, but that didn't mean Roy felt any better about it.

"I still think you should've stayed in the hospital for another day or two," his subordinate grumbled as he led the way up the walk, not even trying to disguise the fact that he was by his side in case his still precarious balance failed him again. "How much use are you going to be to Ed with a cracked skull? He's waited five months, right; what's the problem with waiting a few more days?"

"That's exactly it," he muttered darkly, just trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Fuck, he felt terrible. "He's been back for five months. This is the first time he's ever said he wants to try coming back... I don't want to turn around now to put it off even longer."

"You're worried he'll back out if given the chance?" Havoc surmised- then, with a low exclamation, shot his hand out towards him when he nearly overbalanced and fell.

Scowling, Roy shrugged him off, though he looked annoyed more at his own state than at the fact that Havoc was helping him. "Exactly," he said again. Not that he _couldn't_ continue to hide Ed if he had to, but this was for the best. It really was. Ed finally coming back was what he needed to do, and Roy didn't want to postpone it for a few more days just to give him the time to change his mind.

He wanted, by the end of today, to have Ed's death pronouncement be revoked, and have the Fullmetal Alchemist's long-awaited return at last be official.

They moved as quickly as Roy was able to go, not wanting Riza's neighbors to look in on why two other officers were here at such an early hour. As expected, it seemed Riza had almost just been waiting and ready for them to knock, because almost the moment Havoc pulled his fist back, his adjutant had opened the door, perfectly inscrutable and calm. "Sir," she said calmly, saluting him as if everything was absolutely normal.

Behind her, half-hidden in the shadows, Ed already skulked, half-clinging to a doorframe and watching them both with wide, uncertain eyes.

"At ease," he told her distractedly, barely managing to spare her a look. He did at least manage to wait until Riza had shut the door behind the both of them to let his own facade drop, crossing over to where Ed waited for them, looking just as fidgety as Roy felt. Despite what Roy had told him to do late last night, it was pretty clear that he, once again, hadn't slept at all. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Ed just gave a jerky nod, returning the examination right back at him. "Yeah. You?"

"Of course." Roy paused, mouth open to try and call him out on the dark circles ringing his eyes, the shakiness and twitching, then just swallowed the words back into his throat. "Are you still sure you want to do this?" he asked instead, trying to sound neutral. "Remember, you can change your mind up into the point you walk into military HQ."

Ed, however, just managed another jerky nod, breaking his gaze to lower it to his feet and fidget some more. "I- yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. ...I'm not really as confident as I was last night, but yeah. I'm ready." He managed a weak grin and a tiny laugh, high-pitched with nerves, but, to his credit, did not backtrack. "I'm ready."

From behind them, Riza cleared her throat quietly. "This is just a suggestion..." she began quietly, and they both turned to face her to find the major watching them, expression again implacable. "But- maybe we should just wait a day or two. Neither of you are in good condition. Ed looks like he hasn't slept in days, and as for you, General, you just got out of the hospital. This might go better if both of you were more rested, and considering the circum-"

But Ed was already shaking his head again, the move jerky and twitchy like he'd had too much coffee but knowing him, it was surely nerves alone. "No," he said immediately, the word steady and sure. "No, I don't want to put this off. If I do I'll just spend every day from now until then dreading it. If I'm doing this at all, I'm doing it today. I have put this off for long enough."

Riza blinked.

Roy, for his part, relaxed just enough to allow himself a small, proud smile, and nodded back at her.

 _That's my boy,_ he almost wanted to say, and reached a hand up to warmly settle it on Ed's shoulder.

After several moments, Riza just sighed, not looking too surprised by the answer herself. "Right." She gave Roy a small frown, as if to tell him _you know this would go so much better if you rested a little more,_ but she didn't say it aloud, instead just looking at him for one long moment before turning away, collecting a nearby file to hand to him. "Well, we were prepared for this eventuality. Here you are, General: document forgeries proving Ed has just recently traveled from the Xing border, arriving in Central three days ago. If calls are made to ascertain their veracity, we've already got men stationed out east to take care of that. If you'd like another country of origin, we can work that out, too, but might need another day or two."

And this time, it was Ed and Roy's turn to stare.

Riza smiled back innocently, hands clasped behind her back. "Fuery and Falman were up late working last night."

Slowly, still blinking, Roy looked from her down to the documents again.

As she has promised- perfect forgeries, every last one of them. Every single last document they would need to present to prove Ed's supposedly only recent return- right there in his hands.

"I think I want to hug you," he announced shakily, still leafing through the pages, then dropped them limply back down. "And you can't even shoot me for it unless you're willing to wound an already injured man."

Riza just smiled knowingly again, and Havoc just as amused. Ed was the only one who didn't get it, the kid grabbing the folder from him with a trembling hand to move blankly through the documents he didn't know how to interpret. "What am I missing?" he demanded, voice tight with just a hint of returning tension. "What'd she do; why is this a good thing?"

Roy couldn't help but laugh as he patted his shoulder again, relaxing for what felt like the first time all day. "We're going to need to prove, first and foremost, that the reason you haven't reported to the military until now is because you haven't had a choice. That's impossible if the Fuhrer realizes you've really been in Amestris- Central, even- this whole time. The only way to show that is to have these records showing you've only just arrived from the border... which we now have." He hefted the precious folder, beaming again. "Thank you, Major."

But she wasn't done yet- and somehow, a part of Roy wasn't even surprised as she handed over yet another folder, this one a little thicker than the last, and by the almost smug light in her eyes, he knew she was proud of everything she'd achieved last night, even though she'd never admit it. "Breda also dropped this off a little before you two arrived, sir," she announced, and her small, proud smile grew a little more. "It's a possible backstory to explain Ed's absence. Everything's based in Xing, and he worked with your family to pull it off, so it should be as accurate as possible. We think it covers everything, but I'd prefer it if you and Ed could read through it together, for anything we might've missed." She shrugged a little, gaze lingering uncertainly on the two of them again. "Based on what we've prepared, it states Ed arrived back in the city three days ago, and tried to report in to his superior. Since you were hospitalized, however, he reported to me, and I deemed the matter could wait until you were returned to duty. That gives us enough time to have conceivable have all these reports prepared, and still explains why you haven't reported it to the Fuhrer until now. Speaking of which, sir," she gave him a hard look, gesturing to her watch, "I think I'm going to make a phone call. If we're going to speak to the Fuhrer today, it'd be wise to set that up now."

Roy nodded, giving her the silent order to go even as he looked back to the folders again, starting to turn through them. He would've been stunned at Riza's efficiency- but he really knew better. Almost heart-stoppingly grateful and relieved for it, yes, but not surprised or amazed. It would be an insult to think her incapable, even of this much, and he found himself starting to smile again, touching these hard-earned papers.

Even after everything he'd put her through these past months, she was still willing to go to such lengths for him. He didn't deserve it, but he wasn't enough of a fool to say he didn't appreciate her all the more for it.

"Wait, wait, _stop!"_ Ed cried again, roughly yanking this folder, too, from him to stare wildly at the many pages before him. "Wait- Roy, what's going on? What is all of this, what does all this mean?! I don't know what you're talking about!"

Roy blinked in surprise, staring back down at him for a moment, thrown. Then, with a wave of understanding, he realized- and felt all the more guilty for it. Right... of course. To all of them, who knew the protocols like the backs of their own hands, this was as simple and easy to follow as a map- but for Ed- well, he couldn't blame him for being confused. Or, even a little frightened.

"Ed," he said again, carefully laying his hand back on his shoulder to gently try and lead him back towards the couch, getting him to sit down. He was still wild-eyed and trembling, helped no part, surely, by his complete lack of sleep, and Roy took a moment to just meet his gaze and hold his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Ed, nothing's wrong. These are all good things. Okay? Just listen to me for a moment." He held still, waiting to make sure the kid was actually going to do it- and then, with nothing but a frantic, silent stare met his, he began.

"As far as the military's concerned, you, right now, are missing in action. _Not_ deserted. That's important, Ed; it means the military doesn't think you're guilty of any wrong-doing, and we want to keep it that way. The way Riza has it set up, you've followed through with all the regulations- you reported in as soon as you were able, and I, as your superior have approved your report, and the reason for your absence. Technically- _technically-_ that's all that needs to happen. There doesn't have to be any court martial at all. That's only if the military has any evidence of you breaking military law- which, luckily for you, is decided by your superior. Unless the Fuhrer supersedes me, this is all we need to do."

"But- but then-" Ed clutched the folders back to his chest, staring desperately back to where Riza was already on the phone. "Then what's the point of you guys faking all of this?! Coming up with a coverstory and everything- and why's she calling the Fuhrer?! If you're the only one who needs to clear it, why are you talking to _him?!"_

"Because- hey, Ed, look at me-" Roy pulled him back around carefully, trying to keep his voice steady and soothe him. "Because, like it or not, you're not Corporal Random. You're a very well-known, well-liked public figure, and you are- were- _very_ good at your job. While I'm the only one whose approval is officially required, he's going to be looking into this one way or another, and, trust me, it is much, _much_ better if we go to him directly rather than try to keep this quiet. We don't want to look like we have anything to hide. That's what Riza's been taking care of- so when the Fuhrer does his little snooping expedition, nothing will look amiss, and that'll be that. All you're going to have to do is repeat whatever's in this file," he waved the backstory Riza had prepared for him, "and make it believable, and that's all. Okay?"

Ed held stiff still, shivering under his hand as he looked back at Riza again, then met his gaze with wary eyes. "...You're sure?" he asked slowly, every line of his exhausted face screaming suspicion. "That's... all?"

Roy nodded slowly, careful not to break his gaze. "That's all."

For one long moment, Ed held silent, still clutching Riza's folders to him. He looked nervously down at the papers, biting hard down on his lower lip. Then, shivering, he glanced back up to him.

He didn't say anything, but he managed one small, anxious nod, and Roy, knowing that was the best he was going to get, just pulled him a little closer and nodded back.

He ignored the anxious knot slowly tightening in his stomach, and told himself resolutely that today was going to end well.

Because he wasn't going to let it happen any other way.

* * *

Ed couldn't make himself stop fidgeting.

Despite the fact that he knew it made it look like he had something to hide, and Roy had spent all morning telling him that was the number one thing to avoid- he just _couldn't_ stop doing it.

Perhaps, some small, rueful voice at the very back of his mind whispered, Hawkeye had been right, and taking a day or two to get himself back together wouldn't have been the worst idea in the world after all.

But it was far too late for that.

Because now, here he sat- fidgeting and all- right in Fuhrer Hakuro's office.

It was an intensely unsettling experience, and the fact that he was being closely being stared at by the Fuhrer himself, whenever the man lifted his narrowed, suspicious eyes from the thick, faked report in front of him, wasn't helping matters in the slightest.

Roy stood behind the Fuhrer, silent and implacable, hands folded behind his back. He was the only other person in the room, but sure wasn't doing anything to try and tell Ed how the meeting was going. Hell, Ed wasn't sure if Roy had so much as looked at him ever since taking his position behind Hakuro. Some part of him understood why; it would probably not help matters at all if Roy so outwardly tried to support him here, instead just presenting Hakuro with a united front that put the Fuhrer himself on the offensive back at them-

But he still couldn't help but wish Roy would at least _look_ at him.

It reminded him, almost eerily so, of his State Alchemist interview. It was almost the same, in a lot of ways. Hakuro had been there, and Roy, and the Fuhrer, along with a few others- the same sort of subtly hostile, dangerous interview where on the surface, everything seemed just fine, but he knew very well just what one wrong word could do to him. Back then, everyone had been just like Roy was now; just standing up there completely impassive and unreadable, staring blankly ahead and waiting for their superior to speak.

Now, of course, that also reminded him just a little too much of Germany, and another shiver went down his spine.

Finally- god damn _finally,_ after what felt like intolerable fucking _hours_ of just sitting there in absolute silence, every rustle of pages so loud he jumped, and Roy staring blankly over his head, the Fuhrer cleared his throat. "So," he said, finger tapping on his desk. He didn't even look up from the folder.

Ed fidgeted again. "...Yeah," he croaked out, barely steady at all, and clenched his fists in his lap. He glanced hopefully at Roy again, waiting for some sort of cue on how he was doing or what was going on, but still got nothing.

"This is an interesting story, Fullmetal," Hakuro told him, finally lifting his gaze up from the report to look at him. "I think it would seem a lot clearer if you told it to me yourself, though."

Ed couldn't help but fidget and look to Roy again for some sort wordless, mental cue, but to no avail. He swallowed tensely, trying to stay calm. It was okay. Roy had told him beforehand this would probably happen. This was just Hakuro checking how faithfully he could reproduce this story. A few discrepancies were expected; one too many and they'd suddenly find themselves faced with an investigation- if he repeated everything for verbatim, then once again, he'd find himself faced with a renewed cause for suspicion. But this was fine. This was okay. He'd memorized the file, and Roy had coached him on the drive in on how to spin this. It was all right. He could do this.

So, clearing his throat, and fighting not to flinch at the way Roy was still continuing to gaze dully overhead and, for all intents and purposes, didn't seem to be listening to him in the slightest, Ed started to lie.

"It's as I told General Mustang... sir." He bit his tongue, shivering again. As much as the respectful title rankled him to give, now really wasn't the time for him to try and make a statement on what he thought about military fucking decorum. "Seven years ago, my brother and I were tracking the group responsible for what happened in Lior. We'd managed to chase them out of Central, but we weren't able to get back in contact with Mustang to tell him."

Roy- _finally-_ cleared his throat, though his face remained carefully implacable the entire time. "My men checked the dates, sir. This appears to sync up with Archer's assault on HQ, and the previous Fuhrer's disappearance. Many communication lines were down at the time, and Fullmetal isn't the only soldier who tried to report in but failed. There are multiple reports of soldiers even in Central who were unable to report to their superiors at the time."

Hakuro frowned slightly, but just like Roy, remained unreadable. "If that's true, there'll be documentation of it," he said cryptically, then leaned back in his chair, still watching Ed. "Continue."

Ed gulped, glancing up at Roy again. Still, the general betrayed nothing at all.

Swallowing again, fists tightening, Ed straightened his back and went on.

What followed was a highly tense, almost unbearably long and careful fabrication of a many years' long mission to Xing. The more he thought about it and repeated the information, the more he realized how ingenious Hawkeye's lies on the matter really were. Xing was very far across the desert- there were no phone lines between the two countries, and only the wealthy could afford to send letters. Sure, there was a small Amestrian military embassy near the border, but it was hard to get to and certainly conceivable that he wouldn't have been able to check in.

It got even more convenient from there. Ed didn't speak Xingese- it would've been in his file if he had- meaning it was even more believable that he would've had trouble trying to send a report back home from Xing to explain everything that had happened. Then, there was his lack of automail- Ed hadn't known, but apparently, the great wooden prostheses they used as cheaper, less advanced models today had been innovated right in Xing. The fact that his automail had gone missing in the first place, and all his new scars, were also great support for his story; or, at the very least, supporting that he really hadn't deserted and just been off having a seven year long vacation on a beach in Aerugo.

Then, of course, there was the bastard's connections with Xing. Ed still wasn't all that sure just what Roy's strange family was, or how many connections he had over there, but the level of detail he was regurgitating here was unbelievable. If authentic, it couldn't have come from anything but someone who'd legitimately lived in Xing for years.

It was a better cover story than he ever could've hoped to create himself, and he almost could not believe Roy and his team had created this all just in one night.

Hakuro didn't give him much more than to Roy to go off on, in terms of how well his story was being received. Roy still wasn't reacting in any way whatsoever, not even looking at him; Hakuro was at least meeting his eyes, but aside from a small reaction or two here or there, he revealed nothing but a steady aura of suspicion. It was almost impossible not to compare him to Bradley, who'd always seemed to open and welcoming, informal- but now that Ed knew the truth about who that man had really been, he knew he preferred this. At least Hakuro wasn't trying to deceive him about where he stood. He knew this sort of reception was really the best he could've realistically hoped to receive so, unlike with Bradley, at least he knew what was really going on in Hakuro's head. At least he knew that this was, so far, still going well.

And, steeling himself with that knowledge, he continued on.

According to Hawkeye's version of events, Al had died in Xing three years ago. That, too, had been the incident in which he'd lost his automail. Ever since then, he'd been lying low, recovering, and trying to get home.

Despite the fact that she had no idea what had actually happened, he found this close enough to the truth for each and every word to taste bitter in his mouth as he said it.

When he finally finished the story, it was well over two hours later. Roy still hadn't moved so much as an inch from behind Hakuro; Ed found himself almost sore with how much he'd been fidgeting, his mouth dry and his hands still shivering.

And Hakuro...

Said nothing, and just looked down to the folder again.

Ed coughed, shivering even harder, and forced himself to sit up straight again. "And... that's all," he finished lamely, as if that shouldn't have already been clear, then swallowed and fell silent.

Hakuro's pen tapped slowly on his desk again.

And then, at last, the Fuhrer lifted his gaze back up to watch him.

"I'll be investigating this," he said, lying a hand down on the folder. "But you appear to be quite truthful, Major Elric."

Ed forced his head into a nod, swallowing tightly again. This was still okay, he told himself once again, this was still fine- no matter the fact that his hand was now sweating and his heart, pounding. Roy had already told him Hakuro was going to be investigating into every word he'd said here today, no matter how believable Hawkeye's files were or how perfectly he'd pulled off replicating them here and now. It was, in fact, _better_ for him that Hakuro was telling him this up front in the first place.

It was when the Fuhrer was hiding something from him that he really had to worry.

"So..." Ed started weakly, voice still wavering a bit from the exhausted anxiety racing through his veins. "So... when, uh, can I-"

"Which means, if everything that you've said today checks out, all we have to do is decide what to do about your enlistment."

And just like that, Ed's mouth went dry all over again. He fell silent.

He'd been worried about this.

Hakuro smiled slightly as he leaned back in his chair again, a small, almost predatory expression as he looked down at him like a hawk would a mouse. "As you know, State Alchemists have the choice to re-enlist or retire their state certification every year. According to your file, you'd only re-enlisted just a month before the events in Lior, and you officially went missing. Again, if everything you've said here today was true, you've not been working for the military, or carrying out missions, ever since then. Therefore-"

Roy coughed. Just a quiet, almost submissive cough from behind the Fuhrer as he clicked his heels together, standing even straighter upright- and for the first time since they'd ever stepped into this damn room, he finally took action. "Sir?" he asked, looking down at the Fuhrer- and, still, not at Ed.

Hakuro grimaced slightly at the interruption, glowering out of the corner of his eye. "...Speak."

"About Fullmetal's re-enlistment, sir, if I may offer a suggestion: as you've said, he had a little over eleven months left with his contract. I spoke with him on our way here today, and he's already told me he'd be willing to volunteer to simply finish out the time he had left."

Ed barely stopped himself from jerking upright, panic and alarm bolting like electricity down his spine.

His eyes widened in shock. _What?!_ No- _no,_ he had fucking _not._ He'd never said any such thing, nor would he fucking ever do it! He was _never_ working for any fucking military _ever_ again! "General-" he started, panic rising. What was Roy doing?! He had to know- had to know what he was saying was _wrong-_

"Therefore," Roy went on calmly- but for just a split second, just before Hakuro had started to turn around to face him, his one eye lifted to meet Ed's. There was a quiet flash of warning in there, a dark look that seemed to say _shut up_ \- and then it was gone, replaced with nothing but the proper military submission to authority as Hakuro turned fully in his seat to look at him. "I believe it would be simplest if we carried out things as they were: Fullmetal will continue to serve in the State Alchemist program for the remainder of his contract, as originally agreed upon. After eleven months, when his contract expires, it'll be up to him to renew it or not." He paused for a moment, still watching the Fuhrer. "As you'll remember, sir, Fullmetal never received officer training. I see no other alternative to this unfortunate situation but to keep him as a State Alchemist."

Ed gaped at him.

 _What_ the _fuck?_

His fists clenched again- and this time, they were ready and willing to punch the fucking bastard in the face.

What he hell was Roy _doing_ to him?!

Re-enlist? For another _year?!_ No. Fuck no, shit no, no fucking way, zilch, nada, nope, not happening, _fuck you Mustang because NO._ He was _never_ chaining himself to a military ever again. Military meant giving up your free will to follow orders- no matter what those orders were. If they ordered him to kill innocent people, then his choices were to be a murderer, or spend the rest of his life running. And Roy- Roy, of all fucking people, _knew that._ And he wasn't doing it! He'd spent enough of his life running and forced into doing things he didn't want to and watching people get hurt and die. He'd spent enough of his life caught in a war and he _could not do it again._ He was done with it! Never again! _No!_ Didn't Roy know that?! Hadn't he told Roy that he would _never_ do this again?!

Paranoid suspicion jerked straight into panic when he saw the Fuhrer start to nod seriously, looking up at Roy like he was actually considering the horrible betrayal of an idea. Almost terrified now, Ed shook his head wildly, fists clenched on his seat, heart racing so fast and hard he saw red. "Wait, _wait._ Wait, please- I never said I'd-"

"That's a fair proposition, Mustang," Hakuro said slowly, tapping a little faster on his desk. He frowned for a moment, looking at the general in a way that was just as unreadable as before- then swiveled back around to face Ed. "You heard him, Fullmetal. You would work as a State Alchemist again, for a period of eleven months. Your contract, and all its original terms, will resume from the day you left for Lior immediately after a fitness eval, to determine your readiness for duty. And this, of course, is all assuming the investigation into your report checks out. Are you satisfied with this?"

" _No!_ No, I'm _n-"_

"He is," Roy interrupted smoothly, hands folded behind his back again, and face right back in that stupid unreadable mask again. "As I've said, we discussed it on our way here, and he agreed that these were acceptable terms. I'll, of course, go over it further with him in private, but he agrees."

The cold, easy betrayal, right out in the open just like that, from an impassive, utterly calm, utterly unbothered, unworried Roy, felt like a smack to the face.

Ed's stomach dropped, and he slowly fell back against his seat- utterly stunned.

Hakuro nodded slowly again, looking between the two of them again. "...I see," he said at last, folding his hands over his desk. "Then, I believe we have covered everything that we need to. Fullmetal, speak with Flame about scheduling the fitness eval; as I've said, you need to be medically evaluated before you can return to duty. I expect you to get that done sooner rather than later. And, you're ordered not to leave the city without my say so, Fullmetal- not until I've finished checking up on your report."

And then, just like that, it was done.

He could almost feel the collar of a dog of the military sliding right back around his throat and tugged tight.

And with Roy holding the leash.

Roy nodded sharply and walked back around the desk, dark eye cold and blank again. He swiveled back around just as he reached Ed's side to give the required salute, clearly trying to nudge him without words into doing the same. "Thank you, sir," he replied, subordinate and without inflection, and clearly gave Ed no choice but to do the same.

The very moment he'd managed it, sitting there trembling but shocked with rage, one hand weakly raised up in stunned speechlessness to force the salute that made him feel sick to his stomach back, he felt Roy's hand grip tightly in the small of his back, tugging him into step with him and around to go out the door.

They finally reached the hallway again, safe from the Fuhrer- and only then, once the door was shut behind them, did the general relax, his face softening into a beamed, relieving grin.

"Ed!" he cried, almost sounding fucking _ecstatic_ as the betraying, manipulative bastard wheeled around to face him. "Ed, that was perfect! You did so well- everything's going to be fine, now, that was all you had to do! That was everything, Ed, I promise, that's all-"

Ed's temper snapped.

At that unreasonably satisfied, almost fucking _proud_ look on that smug, stupid bastard's face, and the knowledge that the dog of the military's chain and collar was right back around his throat again- and it was _his_ fault- his temper snapped.

He whirled back around, moving with Roy's hand that had just started to pull him closer to try and hug him, and slammed his fist straight into Roy's stomach.

" _What the hell did you just do to me?!"_

The general's smile dropped instantly, shattering into a stunned, anguished wheeze. His knees buckled right in time with the sucker punch to the solar plexus- and it was only by a complete miracle Ed didn't just pull his fist back to do it all over again. "What the _fuck?!"_ he gasped, one fist yanking backwards for another blow while another grabbed him by the collar, forcing him up to be right at eye level. "What the fuck, Roy, what did you just _do?!_ I told- I t- _told_ you- never again, I won't, I, I can't- I _won't- you fucking bastard!"_

Betrayal pierced through him again like a rusted blade and an anguished cry locked in his throat, yanking his fist back to hit him all over again. Hands grabbed onto him, trying to haul him backwards off the general in a panic but he kicked and fought, snarling for them to let him go. "You asshole! You fucking asshole, I told you I'd never work for the military again! _Never!_ You- y-you- _how could you do this to me?!"_

Riza and Havoc appeared out of nowhere next to Roy, tugging the general up from his knees and supporting him while he wheezed in shock, still staring at Ed in wide-eyed disbelief. It took Ed a moment or two to realize the others holding onto him were Roy's men and he tried to fight them off again, straining to get to Roy. How the hell Roy could betray him like this?! He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't stay. He wouldn't let the military take him again. _No._ Panic and rage enclosed around him in equal parts and he tugged violently again on the arms around him, fighting to escape. He couldn't- _wouldn't_ do this-

"Ed!" Havoc demanded, hurrying away from Roy who was still staggered against Hawkeye for support. "Hey, Ed, listen to us, it's not what you think-"

"Not what I think?!" he nearly shouted, trying to throw himself away again. "You sold me out! _You forced me back into the military all over again! You-"_

" _State Alchemists aren't in the military anymore, Edward!"_

"You fucking asshole, you-..."

It took Havoc's words a moment or two to sink in past the sea of sickened, horrified rage swimming through him from head to toe. But when they finally did, he was once again left shocked and speechless, still hanging limply in the grasps' of his men, and trembling with unspoken, barely controllable fear.

"...what?"

"They're not military," Havoc repeated slowly, panting, hand raised as he approached him like he might a wild animal. "That's the point. They used to be. But not anymore. Okay?" He glanced over at Ed's head at the soldiers restraining him and nodded a little; carefully, hesitantly, he felt the hands on him loosen, not enough for him to lunge at Roy again but enough for him to put his feet back on the floor and catch his breath. "State Alchemists have been demilitarized for years now, Ed. They still have a superior officer, but they can't be ordered to use alchemy in combat. They can't be drafted into a war or conflict, either."

Ed stared wildly, still gasping for breath, the knowledge almost too impossible to be real. The hands on him loosened a little more as he shook his head vehemently, breathing hard and trying not to panic but- fuck, it was already too late for that.

"That's the _point,"_ Roy wheezed hoarsely, half supported by the wall, half by Hawkeye. They all looked to where he stood half-slouched behind Havoc, one hand on his stomach and exhausted eye narrowed, the stitches still on his head looking especially glaring now that he'd paled even further. "I'm sorry, Ed, but the Fuhrer was never going to cut you loose. You're too valuable to him. This was the best option there was for you. It'll just be you doing alchemic research for a year. Not even. Okay?" He waited for a moment or two, breathing just as heavily as Ed was. "That's all it is. That's the _point._...Come on, Ed- you know that I wouldn't lie to you." He shook his head vehemently, eye still locked with his. "Not about something like this."

But... no... _no, that's not..._ Ed just hung there limply still, gasping almost too hard to catch any breath at all and mind racing too fast for him to actually grasp what he was being said. But... but- no. No, that wasn't... it didn't make sense... that was-

It was just too good. It wasn't possible. After everything he'd done, all the shit life had thrown at him, over and over again- no, this wasn't right, it couldn't be-

"What's the catch?" he gasped, making another attempt to tear free. This time, they let him go, spreading slowly around to move in front of him instead of guard from behind. "You-" he looked frantically at the still wary Havoc. "You said I'd still have a superior officer! So I'd still have to follow orders! Who- w-who-?"

Havoc grinned weakly. "Guess who's got two thumbs, one eye, and commands the new State Alchemy program?"

From behind him, Roy again raised his hand up for a weak, almost pathetic little wave, and gave Ed a small smile again.

And Ed...

Was getting really fucking tired of bombshells like this being dropped on him without warning.

"It's... it's _you?"_

Roy nodded slightly, standing up a little straighter against the wall. "Yeah," he coughed, seeming to try and save face. "Yeah. It's me. ...the brass may not love me, Ed, but when I got them to dissolve the program, I was the highest ranked State Alchemist. So it's now my responsibility." He paused for a moment to watch him, as if making sure that he was listening. "No other superiors, Ed. You'd be reporting to me, and me alone. Not even the Fuhrer could tell you what to do."

Ed stared vacantly again, looking between placating Roy, and wary Havoc, and tense Hawkeye, then to all the rest of them. He stared back at Roy who looked right back, hesitant and almost hopeful, it looked like- then slowly looked down at himself, finally managing to slow down enough to just breathe and hear what was being said.

"That's... it?" he asked finally, tension still fluttering in his chest. "That... this... it's really all I had to do? This... you're telling me the truth? This is all it is?"

Roy nodded slowly back, still propped heavily against the wall. "This is it," he said quietly back.

And that was it.

That was it, Ed realized, slowly looking down at himself, then around the hallway again. That was it. After seven years of running and five months of hiding-

Here was how it all ended.

He'd finally done it.

It was over.

"...So," Havoc coughed awkwardly after a long, uncertain silence, relaxing along with the rest of the men now that it was apparent they didn't need to hold him back. He laughed uncomfortably, glancing around at his fellow soldiers- who, Ed only now realized, he hadn't even seen until now. Even Havoc he'd barely spoken to; for all intents and purposes, this really was the first time he'd faced all four of them in seven years.

They all grinned at him, and Havoc held out his hand again- this time gesturing for him to join them. "So... welcome home?"

And, after a long moment, looking back at Roy who still stood behind them all, watching him with a hint of wary hope in his eye, Ed nodded, and took a step closer. "Welcome home," he agreed, grinning.

Edward Elric was back.


	23. W is for Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the continuing comments/kudos, guys, they really do make my day <3

Being a general had its perks.

There were many of them, actually. The salary, for example. The hoards of privates just waiting to boot-lick. That he'd never have to worry about being ordered into combat again. The practically guaranteed job security. The list went on and on into oblivion.

At the moment, though, there wasn't anything he loved more about being a general than his wonderful, spacious office.

Specifically, his wonderful, ridiculously luxurious, waste of taxpayer money couch in his wonderful, spacious office.

Roy stretched out just an inch more, his eye shut and hugging one of the ostentatious pillows to his chest. Through his thick office door, he could still hear the ongoing, awkward celebration outside, by the walls muffled it enough to make it comforting rather than disturbing. Which was convenient, because, given his mood, if it had been the other way around he probably would've snapped a fireball at them. And, given his splitting headache, probably would've missed and ended up burning the building to the ground.

He sighed again, burrowing deeper back into the cushions.

He loved this damn couch.

After the meeting with Hakuro had concluded, he and Ed had ended up being shepherded back to his office. He knew his men were trying to be sensitive towards what Ed needed, but they were also just too damn curious to hide it, and now that Ed was going to be working with them again, the kid had seemed to decide there just wasn't any point in running to hide back home. Roy had stayed with everyone for a few minutes, but when he'd seen his men were going to restrain themselves from asking questions Ed wasn't ready to answer and they didn't need a babysitter, he'd quickly given in to slink back and hide in his darkened inner sanctum.

It was the closest thing to a welcome home party that kid was going to get, five months late and in a military office with military officers instead of friends, family and home- but he knew, just from the look that he'd seen on Ed's face, that he had appreciated it more than words could say.

Roy, however, as pleased and warmed by his men's reaction as he was, didn't think he would've helped the mood in the room by joining.

Dealing with that many people, even on his best days, was just exhausting. Today, he already hadn't slept at all. His head already _hurt._ And now, courtesy of Ed- so did his stomach. Roy didn't think he knew anyone who could throw a harder punch than that kid. But, suffice it to say, he was just too damn tired today to try and deal with the celebration going on outside his office.

Hence, his new home of his couch. And the current love affair he had going on with it.

Roy wasn't sure how long he'd been hiding in here, trying to doze away the giant sore sport that was his body, when he finally heard his heavy door ease open. It wasn't Ed, whose footsteps were very distinctive; it took him a few seconds of listening, however, to identify them as belonging to Hawkeye. Withering back a little under the interrogation that he knew was coming, he just hugged his pillow tighter and kept his eye shut.

He heard Riza stop beside the couch and knew, just by the way she stood there silently looking down at him, that she knew full well he wasn't asleep. There was still a momentary pause as his adjutant looked him over, and Roy resisted just lifting the pillow to hide his face in it.

" _I'll be fine to work,_ you said," she told him finally. Her voice told him _exactly_ how she felt about him, at the moment.

He barely resisted the urge to pout. "I _am_ fine," he protested, prying his eye open enough to give her a pitiful, sympathy-inspiring look. "Just... taking a short break..."

" _Oh, I haven't slept all night, but that won't be a problem, you'll see,_ you said."

He managed a weak, probably pathetic, smirk. "Well, I _had_ just spent the past two days sleeping, so..."

" _A cracked skull? What's that? I see no reason why I shouldn't go into work just to lie on my couch all day anyway,_ you _said._ "

He winced again, inching away from the perfectly deadpan look on her face. God, he hated to admit it- but that quiet, barely noticeable hint of a whine in her voice was spot on.

"Quit picking on me," he gave in at last, this time not even trying not to pout. "I'm an injured man. Have sympathy!" He tried for a doleful look, but at the steady look of restrained amusement on her face, he knew it was a doomed effort. Riza could resist puppy dog eyes from _Hayate._ He stood no chance for sympathy until she thought he'd earned it.

Riza just stood there for a long several seconds, looking down at him and drawing the moment out, refusing to give. But eventually- whether it was his exceedingly pathetic state or her own built up tolerance for his nonsense- she did at last relax into a small, affectionate smile as she turned her back, pacing away to shake her head. "You are quite incorrigible, sir."

"I'd have died ten years ago if not for you," he filled in obediently, watching out of the corner of his eye as she rummaged through his desk for his secret stash of painkillers. The downside, as it was, of having such an unnecessarily spacious office; from the door, his couch had been closer than his desk, so the couch it had been. He watched as she brought them back over to him, expression still implacable, and reluctantly sat a little of the way up, accepting them for a dry swallow. "Thank you, Major. Ed... really packs a punch," he said, grimacing as he touched at his stomach again. "Thank you."

With the dim lightning, and his own eagerness to just lie back down again, Roy didn't notice the strange look on her face until he was already back down on his side, curling loosely around his pillow this time. Then, blinking, he realized for the first time the small frown that had found its way to her mouth, and the odd light in her eyes as she looked down at him. "...What's wrong, Riza?"

She kept her silence for a breath. Then, frown deepening, she shifted to look him in the eye. "Yes, Ed _does_ pack quite a punch," she said vaguely, still watching him closely. "And, something tells me you know a little more about it that than just what you learned today, sir."

Immediately, his own weak smile fell, and the light atmosphere of humor dissipated into nothingness.

He didn't have to be wide awake or alert to see what she was getting at.

"Leave it alone, Riza," he warned quietly, his voice completely devoid of the easygoing, lightheartedness he'd held before,and shut his eye again.

"I think, as your bodyguard, I'm really duty-bound not to."

He grimaced darkly, still keeping his eye shut and again hugging the pillow closer, taking out his momentary rush of annoyance on it. "For god's sake, you really don't have to protect me from Ed, Riza. What happened today was a misunderstanding- obviously. You were there! If I'd actually done what he'd thought I had- hell, I'd deserve to get punched."

"And you're telling me," she went on quietly, not missing a beat, "that every single time you've come into work bruised was a misunderstanding."

His next sigh caught in his throat, and again, he didn't have the words to answer her.

Slowly, Roy opened his eye to meet her gaze again. It was hard and unreadable, almost set in an ironclad bias against Ed in this, a bias he already knew he couldn't sway her from. He clenched his jaw, the words still lost in his throat.

Outside his office, he could still hear his men talking loudly, and Ed now along with them. For the first time in a long while, he sounded happy.

"...Leave it alone," he told her again, trying to give her no room to challenge him in just those three words. Trying, and, because it was her, failing completely. "It's complicated, and I can't explain everything. I won't tell you whatever Ed doesn't want anyone to know, but _trust me,_ Riza. He had his reasons."

"You're not seriously trying to claim that it was _justified?_ You're actually admitting it?!" she fired back, eyes widening in something close to outrage. "General-" She took a step forward to reach a hand out, then just dropped it, hot anger flickering through her gaze; a rough wave of her hand as she gestured emphatically back at his closed office door nearly made him flinch. "Don't try and claim he was-"

"Damn it, Riza, don't do this." Glaring himself now, Roy pushed himself reluctantly back up into a sitting position, tugging a rough hand through his hair before just ripping his eyepatch off in aggravation, throwing it to the corner of the couch. Damn thing was doing no wonders for his headache. "I'm not saying he was justified, but what happened to him- if you knew-... I think he would disagree with me saying this now, but he _did_ have his reasons. Good ones. Just like I've had reasons for keeping this from all of you. I may never be able to explain all of it to you, but can you at least trust me when I say it's not something you have to worry about? You _do_ trust me, Riza."

"Of course I do, sir," she returned flatly.

He nodded earnestly, trying to get her to see reason. "So, then, you-"

"I also know you have a guilt complex the size of Drachma and are a glutton for punishment, and if someone you care about punches you in the face, you're sooner to think you deserved it before you blame anyone else for it. Sir."

His breath caught again, and slowly, his fists clenched again around the criminally soft pillow.

He knew she was thinking of Hughes, and then his long, self-enforced exile to the north. Neither were subjects he much wanted to talk about. But, he slowly realized, her suspicions here were not undeserved. Not because of anything that Ed had done, but because of his own habits and history- and that, yes, it was her job to protect him. And in recent years, that had become equal parts protecting him from others- and from himself.

"...That's fair," he admitted at last, grudgingly, and forced himself to keep his eye on her rather than breaking her hard gaze to stare anywhere else. If it had been any other conversation, he never would've admitted that to her, period. But this was for Ed's sake, so he could grit his teeth, lower down his pride, and do it. "But, can you at least trust me on this, when I say that this time, it really isn't like that, Riza? Because I'm not saying that it was... right. But knowing what I do now, about what he went through- I can't blame him for it. I honestly can't." He swallowed, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, for some reason, and looked at her again. "I can promise you that you have nothing to worry about, Riza. Okay?"

She watched him a moment longer, and it was only because he knew her as well as he did that he could glimpse her walls starting to weaken, just a little. "I'm assuming we're not going to find out what those reasons of his are?" she asked him, answering a question with a question. Her voice betrayed just a hint of resignation as well, as if she knew he was going to win this argument- but again it was so small only he could've heard it.

And once again, he was given no choice but to shake his head. "I'm sorry. That's the truth, Riza, I am- and I'm sorry I've lied to you all for so long, as well. But that's not my story to tell, and as for why I've kept all of this secret from you for all this time... that was just to keep him safe, Riza," he said quietly. "I just did whatever I had to to try and make sure he wouldn't wind up hurt. I'm sorry that meant I had to lie to you."

...or, hurt worse than Ed had already been, anyway.

Most of it, by Roy's own hand- in another world or not.

Riza didn't answer him at first, instead following his earlier gaze back to where Ed and his men were continuing in their unsure reunion. Where, in just what little that Roy had been there for, Ed had been unusually quiet and insecure, participating but always looking unconvinced of his place there. Like he was constantly waiting for the hammer to drop, unsure that he belonged, and inherently suspicious, after everything that he'd been through, of anything that seemed too good to be true.

It was Riza, he remembered, who had first seen Ed yesterday when he had broken into her apartment, convinced that he was hurt or dead.

After several moments of listening in, she glanced back at him, her gaze lingering over the only recently uncovered half of his face. Her eyes, as usual, betrayed nothing, but Roy already knew what she was staring at. The eyepatch, or lack thereof- the eyepatch that, before Ed had barraged back into his life, he never would've taken off in front of another.

He knew Riza had seen all the changes in him for the worse... but she'd also seen the ones for the better.

And she knew that, more recently, at least, those ones for the better had far outnumbered and overtaken the ones for the worse.

"Understood, sir," she said at last, and this time, she gave him a very small smile to go with it. A small smile that told him she understood everything. He knew this wasn't the end of it, because she would still be keeping an eye out, both for him and Ed- but she wouldn't hold a grudge, and unless forced to, she wouldn't approach Ed on it. For now, at the very least, this matter was closed.

And he was forgiven, for lying.

"Thank you," he sighed again, sinking back into his precious couch, and shut his eye again.

This time, he heard laugh quietly, and her steps retreating as she drew back- to his desk, it sounded like. "Should I tell the men you won't be needing a ride home tonight, sir?"

By her voice, she already knew the answer, but Roy still managed a weak laugh even as he nodded back. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, and at the moment, he was interested in nowhere but this couch. After a moment, though, he cracked his eye open, squinting back at her as she crossed back over to his side again to deposit a blanket at his feet. "Wait, no... I'll need to get Ed back, and after today I don't really want to leave him alone. I..." He sighed heavily. Damn it. "Yes, I'll need a ride home after all. ...Unfortunately."

Riza, however, gave him an odd little smile again, glancing back towards his door. "If your concern is only for Ed, sir, then I actually think it's a bit unfounded. Come over here- see for yourself"

Frowning again, almost wanting to sulk back against the comfort of his couch out of pure stubbornness, Roy forced himself unhappily up to his feet and followed. He groaned, pressing a hand to his head, both to try and push back the headache growing behind his forehead and hide the left side of his face, and squinted again, already preparing for the burst of migraine-inducing light from outside his office.

When Riza opened the door, however, he didn't get what he had expected.

His men were all standing, grouped around the coffee and conversing still- but quieter than before. They, just like everyone else here, hadn't slept at all the night before, thanks to what they'd rushed to get done for Ed, and he knew they all suspected at least some of what Ed had gone through, so all of them looked a little worse for wear- but this was still a celebration, and they looked the part, all right.

It was an unusually quiet, celebration, though, and it took him a moment to realize why.

Ed was sitting at Fuery's desk, head pillowed on a stack of unfinished paperwork, and fast asleep.

One hand was half stuck into a bag of chips, looking to be as if Breda had loaned out some of his supposedly secret snack stash, while his back and shoulders were covered in what he thought was Havoc's jacket. And though from this vantage point, it was hard to see, it looked as if Black Hayate had curled up next to him, too, nudged just close enough to rest his head on his foot.

He looked completely, utterly exhausted. It was only now that Roy remembered, with a somewhat guilty jolt, that while he hadn't slept at all last night, Ed hadn't slept at all for the past _three._

He looked completely, utterly unconscious. There'd be no rousing him, not with anything short of the building being on fire.

He also looked, for the first time since he had come back home five horrible months ago, completely and utterly relaxed.

"I don't think Ed really wants to leave at the moment, sir," Riza told him softly, and Roy, staring at the almost heartwarming sight, could only smile back.

* * *

Ed woke up to the smell of coffee, and the sound of crinkling paper.

He felt like shit, and if it hadn't been for the coffee, he'd probably would've just groaned and gone right back to sleep.

But no one in the world could ignore the smell of hot caffeine, whether just out of bed or not, so, swallowing back a groan and telling the exhausted soreness collecting throughout him to go to hell, he squinted his eyes open.

Last he remembered, he'd been- shit. Had he really fallen asleep here? That... he had not meant to do that. He really hadn't. God, he had to look like an ass, now... the team had been trying to welcome him back home- Fuery had let him steal his desk, Breda had even given him food- and now he'd just gone and fallen asleep on them. And by the looks of it, had slept right through everything they'd done for him, and for far longer than he'd meant to, because when he'd gone to sleep they'd all been right there- but there was no sign of them anywhere anymore.

The only one who was there was Roy, standing across the room, slowly tearing open a tiny paper packet of sugar. The general didn't seem to realize he was awake at all, too focused on getting himself coffee. By the looks of him, it had _definitely_ been a while since Ed had fallen asleep; his uniform was all but gone, save just a barely buttoned shirt and the navy pants, and his longer hair fell carelessly over the left side of his face, hiding scars and bandages, and stuck up in unruly spikes elsewhere like he'd been asleep himself.

While Ed watched, the general yawned a little, then poured himself a cup of coffee, in a mug that proudly proclaimed him as _World's Worst Boss._ He yawned again, warming both his hands with it, then finally started to lift it to drink.

Then stopped, when the motion made lifted his gaze right back onto Ed, and he realized he was awake.

Roy blinked for several seconds, looking almost like a deer in the headlights, then coughed awkwardly and lowered the steaming mug back down without drinking from it. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." He watched him speculatively for a second, examining him for some reason, then asked, "How're you feeling?"

Ed did let himself groan this time, reluctantly planting his hands down to slowly push himself upright. His back screamed and popped, his right shoulder barely wanted to move, he felt still half-asleep, and- of course- a couple of sheets from his paperwork pillow stuck to his face. Glowering, he yanked them off and slowly started to stretch, wincing with every move. "God awful... like I've been asleep ten years."

Roy smirked a little, but he seemed relieved more than anything else. "Ten hours is closer to it. Maybe twelve... it's around three in the morning now."

Ed's eyes widened and he jerked up straighter, the news a much better bolt of wakefulness than the smell of hot coffee had been. _"What?"_ he burst out with, not sure if he was more surprised that he'd been asleep twelve hours now or that it was three in the morning. "You- I've-... god damn." No _wonder_ he felt like this, if he'd been sitting in this chair dead to the world for so long.

It took him several moments to turn his brain on enough to process any more, but when he managed it, he was even more confused. "Three AM? But then why- what are we still doing here?" It sure explained where everybody else had gone, at least, but why the hell hadn't Roy woken him up to leave before now? And why was he still awake in the first place?

The general shrugged as he sat down in the desk across from him, finally taking his first sip of his coffee. "We were both pretty much done in, earlier. Riza thought, and I agreed, it made no sense to try and run off home when we were both perfectly comfortable right here. I would've woken you to at least get you to the couch in my office, but you really were out of it, Ed." He smiled fondly, shaking his head. "I woke up an hour or two ago and couldn't get back to sleep, so I just started my work early. Riza will be so proud." He smirked again, leaning back in his chair, then suddenly blinked, gaze returning to him. "Sorry, you want some coffee? By the look of you, you don't want to go back to sleep much now, either." He reached over his shoulder to grab at the collection of waiting mugs, this time lifting up one that said _World's Best Boss_ and sending him a questioning look.

Ed glared darkly right back. "You keep that sludge over there, bastard. Coffee's disgusting."

Roy's smile grew even fonder, eye brightening with amusement. "You know that you don't _have_ to put milk in it, Ed."

"So? Milk isn't the only quality about something! I'm _allowed_ to not like something even if it doesn't have milk! So you just keep your heart attack juice to yourself." Damn military and their cancer sticks and coffee addiction. He was surprised any of them lived past thirty. Besides, he thought privately, the smell would be enough to keep him awake. Just because he couldn't stand the taste didn't mean the smell wouldn't be enough to perk him up.

Roy rolled his eye, settling the mug back down. "Pretty sure if I have a heart attack, you'll be the cause of it, Ed. But suit yourself." He ran his finger down the handle for a moment, still looking a little amused, then started when he realized what Ed was looking at. "Oh. Right. Ah... this one was a present, actually. From Hughes, because he's an ass." He tilted his own mug a little, the one with the label of _World's Worst Boss,_ then tapped the other one. "Riza won this one in an office contest. The team teased me about it for months."

It was Ed's turn to laugh a little. It sounded exactly like Hughes- and Hawkeye, if he thought about it, and he couldn't help but smirk as he watched the general replace Hawkeye's mug from where he'd got it. On his way back to the desk, though, there was a limp- just slight enough for him to see it, but still, there, and his smile faded away, this time replaced by a guilty wince.

And Roy, because Roy was far more awake than him at the moment, saw it and rolled his eye yet again, looking exasperated. "Hell, don't pick up your guilt complex now, Ed. It's fine. I've been punched harder by my sisters... besides, I should've realized how you'd react, and explained everything to you earlier."

Ed faltered, chewing on the inside of his cheek as a wave of sleepy regret touched him again. "Well... well, yeah, but I..."

"Ed. It's three in the morning. We're both tired. Can we just agree to leave it alone? Okay? I already had this whole argument with Hawkeye, and don't really want to have it with you, too."

He bit his lip, hanging back hesitantly. "But..." he tried again, wanting to say _something_ , no mater how much the general didn't seem to mind. He'd been infuriated, yes, but that still wasn't a good reason- and it reminded him far too much of how things had been months ago, back when he'd first made it back home, and he didn't like that. He didn't want to _ever_ go back or feel like he had back then again. "But I..."

Roy sighed exasperatedly again. "If it'll make you feel better, I accept your apology, and ask that next time, you take your anger out on something other than my liver. Now just leave it alone." That said, the general swung around to his side of the desk, hand landing on his shoulder to all but push him to his inner office, where it looked like Roy had been hiding before he'd been driven out by a need for caffeine.

Sure enough, when Ed stumbled aside, it was to see a rumpled blanket cast over a nearby couch, with several stacks of paperwork scattered over the table before it. He tiredly followed Roy over to it, watching as the man made short order of clearing up enough of it to give him a space to sit before he sat down himself with barely a wince, gesturing for Ed to join him. "Come on," he said, uncapping a pen. "My couch beats Fuery's chair ten times over."

...Well, he thought, looking over the soft cushions and pillows, even he couldn't argue with that one.

Ed curled up on the other end of the couch to just watch Roy, too awake to go back to sleep, mind too fuzzy to do anything else. Roy yawned once, still clutching his coffee, then lifted up the first paper in the stack before him so Ed could see. "I was actually working on your re-enlistment forms before. I figured the sooner we can get it over with, the sooner you can run out the clock and ditch the military for good."

...Right. His re-enlistment.

Right.

Ed nodded slowly, trying to hold back the bitter taste in his mouth. "...Thanks," he mumbled after a long moment, not even trying to mean it. He figured it was still better than the alternative- whatever that might've been- but that didn't mean he had to be happy about still being beholden to the government for nearly a year. It wasn't that he had any other urgent plans at the moment, but it was the choice and freedom to have them that mattered.

"So, um... this new State Alchemist thing..." he started uncertainly, winding his fingers together. "That's... I mean..."

Roy, seeming to understand where he was coming from, sighed. He put the paperwork back down and his smile from before, a little forced, faded as he shifted to give Ed a look that told him he knew this was all honest sincerity, now. "I won't lie to you, Ed, it's probably not going to be what you want. But I'll try my best to make it easier for you. And remember, it's only temporary."

He fidgeted again, stomach twisting with nerves. He knew how lucky he was, to have had everything turned out like this, to have Roy be his only superior- but _still..._ "What am I gonna have to do?" he forced out, voice smaller than he meant it to be. "You said it was just research, but that's... well, I know some of the research you guys used to do." He thought back to Lab 5 with a violent, cold shudder, the contents of his stomach rising. He knew Roy never would condone something like that- but this was still the military. Maybe it wouldn't have been Roy's choice. And if they tried to make him do something like that _again..._

Roy, however, shook his head firmly, eye darkening with surely the same memory that Ed had. "No. It's nothing like that, Ed, I promise. Like we told you before, it's not as bad as things were before... if it had been, I never would've gotten you wrapped up back into this. As for what you'll have to do, well... that's pretty much up to you." He shrugged with a weak grin, clearly trying to reassure him. "Whatever project you pick'll have to be approved as something that'll benefit the military for you to keep your funding, but beyond that it's your choice. And if you really, really don't want to even be tied to us that much, Ed, you don't have to. You could just do nothing. Then the military would have no choice but to just fire you."

Ed blinked.

Wait... there was a way out of this?

He didn't _have_ to do it?

Once again Ed found his thoughts being thrown back to Germany, remembering the tenuous, delicate situation with the Nazi scientists. Half of them had just desperately fled out of the country; the other half, while it wasn't as bad as common citizens or soldiers, hadn't been too well off, either. Results had been rewarded greatly... just as fuck-ups had been punished severely. Family members and close friends, just... going missing. For good.

He knew this wasn't Germany, and Roy never would've suggested this route if it could end that badly, but... but...

Damn it, he had just spent too long in that war to ever kill those roots of paranoid suspicion, already planted deep inside of him.

"I could just not work, then?" he asked carefully, heart starting to beat faster. "And that'd be it? They'd just get rid of me, just like that?"

Roy nodded back reassuringly, reaching over to rest a hand on his shoulder again. "Yes. It's a huge résumé killer, is the idea; the deterrent is supposed to be no one'll ever hire you as a researcher again, but you're brilliant enough to work anywhere, Ed. There'd be, technically, no downside for you, if you did it this way."

Ed hesitated for a moment, considering this. Roy was right on that point; even if he decided, later on, that he wanted to become a researcher full time, he'd be able to find work, no matter what the military did. He tried hard to not be arrogant about his abilities, but even he had to admit it was true. He would be able to work hard and find something decent somewhere. And now that he actually thought about it like this, researching full time didn't sound so bad... he didn't really want to go back to school, which left him a little limited; his only skillset was alchemy. Unless things had changed, that left him as either a hired hand, in work like construction or manufacturing, a mercenary, or research.

Only the last appealed to him, and if he thought about it, he knew Al would've supported it, too.

In fact, everything now almost would've sounded like a dream come true...

Except for the way Roy had phrased his last statement.

_There'd be, technically, no downside for you._

For _him._

"...Right," he started slowly, sneaking another suspicious glance at him. "Sounds great, actually. ...What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What about you?" he repeated, glaring pointedly. "Are you telling me there'd be no downside for you in this plan? I thought you were supposed to be the one completely responsible for me- so Hakuro'd be so fucking happy with you if I just sat down and refused to produce anything, then?"

Roy winced a little, and by the look in his eye, Ed knew the way he'd phrased things hadn't been an accident. "Not... especially, no" he admitted unhappily, but didn't get any further into that before Ed shoved at him, glaring again.

"So why didn't you just say that?! I don't want to make things easier for me if it'll just fuck you over! I-"

"Ed, wait, just listen to me. Okay?" Roy broke off for a moment, waiting, but when Ed did nothing but silently glare at him, challenging him to come up with something actually worth it as an excuse for this bullshit, the man sighed again, shifting around to fully face him. "It's not what you're thinking. Yes, Hakuro would be extremely irritated with me, but the extent of what he can do in retribution really isn't much. He'd probably just dislike me even more for the next couple years, and go even more out of his way to find busywork for my office. That's really it, Ed. But you..." He broke off to sigh again, lowering his gaze from Ed's to stare heavily at his lap. Like that, his hair hiding half his face but scars still visible, lines born of exhaustion etching tension and honest worry into his skin, he looked strangely unguarded all over again, unguarded enough to take Ed by surprise.

He'd thought this was Roy's usual just bite the bullet silently bullshit, but this...

This was something else.

"Ed, if you went that way, I'd live through it, and more than that, I'd understand it. Okay? None of those consequences would be insufferable. And... and you've already gone through enough. I'm not naive enough to say the world works this way, where everyone has their guaranteed token of suffering and then happy ending after it, but- god, if anyone's earned to have a bit of peace in their life, it's you. And I _know_ how much you don't want to work for the military, Ed. So if- if that's really intolerable for you, then I just wanted you to know that there's a way out."

Ed, once again, found himself struggling to try and reclaim his glare.

It was stupid. Bullheaded. Annoying. Made him want to punch somebody. _Again._ It was...

Almost touching.

Almost- _almost-_ heartwarming.

He just couldn't give in to the weak smile trying to fight its way onto his face, or the way the bastard's little speech had just wormed around to soften his walls like they were made of butter, because if Roy saw that, then he'd think this was okay, which it _wasn't,_ but...

_Fuck you, Roy._

"You're such an idiot," he said, when he could make his voice abrasive enough to pull it off right, then gave him a little shove again.

Roy sighed, opening his mouth as if to try and continue his argument but Ed cut him off without even letting him try. "It's just eleven months of dicking around researching. That sounds like the easiest year of my life so far, you idiot. Definitely way easier than all the missions you gave me back when I was just a dumb kid. It's nice to know I have a way out, I guess, but it's not worth fucking you all over for it. Which you should've _told me_ it'd do, you bastard."

Roy paused to watch him again, still almost dangerously unguarded, his gaze warm even as an uncertain frown trembled on his mouth. "...If you're sure," he said finally, and Ed didn't let himself even hesitate before nodding emphatically back.

"Yes. I'm sure."

Ed waited until Roy had been convinced of it, some of that uncertainty in his eye finally departing before he asked his next question, still trying to quell his gathering anxiety about the future even as he tried to make it seem to Roy that he wasn't. "So. Now that you're done being stupid. What would it... be like, I guess? I mean, research- I wouldn't have to work here, right? I could just stay at home or something?"

This time, when Roy nodded, there wasn't even a hint of deceit in his eye. "You just report in once a month with your progress; beyond that, the military doesn't care. Technically, you could even continue to stay with me, since fraternization laws don't apply to State Alchemists anymore. If that's what you wanted, of course."

And now, Ed felt even worse about trying to ask his next question.

Great.

But it couldn't be avoided, and so, steeling himself even as he dropped his gaze back down to his knees, he went on again.

"...What about if I didn't want to be in Central?"

The scratching of Roy's pen stopped.

Ed stared even harder down at his legs, swallowing tightly, and held still. The back of his neck started to prickle under the weight of Roy's gaze.

"...What are you thinking?" the general asked at last, completely unreadable.

He fidgeted uncomfortably, suddenly unable to lift his eyes up to look back at him again. "I don't... really know," he confessed reluctantly, the ball of nerves in his stomach rolling around a little more. "I'm not sure about anything yet, I don't think. But, just as a possibility, I mean, I... I think that..." He broke off again, clenching a suddenly clammy hand back tighter in his pants.

"...that I might want to work from Risembool."

Once again, there was silence.

Once again, when Roy replied, his voice had become guarded again- but this time, Ed thought he could hear almost a note of restrained happiness to it. "You think you're ready to see Winry again?"

His insides curled up miserably at the very thought and he coughed hard again, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in his throat. "I mean, that's not the question anymore, is it? Obviously I can't hide anymore. She'll find out I'm here now, one way or another; I can't just leave her to find out through- through a damn newspaper or something! I _have_ to go see her now. I don't know if I want to but I do, and don't try and tell me that's not true because it is. I just don't know if I'll want to stay there after I do it and it'd... just be nice to have the option, I guess. It's okay if I can't, but I... I..."

He'd already left her how many times, now, throughout the years?

Ed wasn't sure if he could live through hurting her like that again, even if it was just for a temporary state of affairs like this. After all, him leaving home, and leaving her, had always been meant to be temporary. When he and Al had first left together, they'd both believed they'd come back some day- come back to stay. Then, when Ed had been sent to Germany by himself, he'd spent every waking moment planning his journey back home. That had _never_ been permanent, until, suddenly, Al was there with him, and it basically was.

Now he was back home once more, and Ed was pretty sure he was now finished taking chances like that ever again.

And something in him warned that if he left Risembool again, this might really be his last chance, and he might never be able to go back to his home and his best friend again.

"Well," Roy said at last, and while that note of restrained happiness was even more subdued now Ed could still hear it, clear as day, "at the moment, no. Hakuro doesn't want you going anywhere until he's finished checking up on everything, and now's really not the time to make waves. In fact, I'll speak with him again tomorrow, and ask him if he can hold back on a press release until you've had a chance to go speak with the Rockbells in person... I imagine he'll grant you that much. But, to answer your question... there really aren't restrictions, Ed."

It took him several seconds to gather up enough fortitude to look up again, heart pounding hard and emotion collecting in his throat once again- but when he did, he was rewarded with a waiting, promising smile.

"All you're required to do is research, and report in once a month. If you want to work from Risembool, then all you have to do is buy a round trip ticket to Central once a month. We-... I won't stop you."

Next moment, and Ed's breath had quickened, panicked anxiety twisting nauseatingly even tighter in his chest all over again, because for some reason, those words were not at all as reassuring as he knew Roy had meant them to be.

This was really it, now. There was no putting it off anymore. Here it was, right in front of him, and he had no excuses to put it off anymore. The last step, in coming back to this world-

And losing Al.

Going home.

And he wasn't ready for it.

 _...But,_ he thought reluctantly, guilt and anguish mixing inside him in equal parts, _you probably won't ever be._

Whether he was ready or not, didn't matter. Whether he could ever be ready _didn't matter,_ because he didn't have a choice anymore.

"If you don't think you can stay there, Ed, you don't have to. You know you always have a place to stay here if you need it," Roy said quietly. There was another short pause, and his hand found its way to his shoulder again. "You know you always have a place to call home here."

"...Y-y-yeah," Ed forced out, voice an almost an octave higher than normal and nearly breaking at the last second. He swallowed tightly again.

He wasn't ready for this.

Roy held silent for a moment, and though Ed was now staring very firmly down at his lap, he still was able to hear the older man move a little bit closer to him on the couch, close enough for the the hand on his shoulder to become an arm loosely around them. "Well," the general said at last. "Looks like we need to start planning a trip to Risembool."


	24. X is for Xenization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments/kudos <3
> 
> Xenization- technically English, but let's be honest, none of us have ever heard of it before. My spellchecker certainly hasn't. It apparently means "the act of traveling as a stranger; to walk as a stranger". The more you know :)

Life in Central settled into a strange, new normal.

Roy continued going to work each day; now, somehow, Ed found himself tagging along. There was nothing for him to really _do;_ until Hakuro gave the all clear, he was just sitting around the general's office all day, but it still felt better than continuing to hide at home. Work went on even with him there, something he found himself grateful for; it was easier to adapt and adjust with the old team having to move on and work around him like they normally would, rather than everything grinding to a halt so they could interrogate him or welcome him back.

They had been very careful not to ask him much about just where he had been or what had happened while he'd been gone. They skirted the topic at all costs, awkwardly at times, but it hadn't taken Ed long to realize there was a new, unspoken rule in the office. A new, unspoken rule to never mention the months he'd spent hiding at Roy's, never ask about the years he'd spent presumed dead... and never say his brother's name.

Ed knew he was luckier for it, and supposed he probably should've been grateful for whatever Roy had told them, to keep them quiet...

But some other part of him knew it was just a matter of time until they had to know the truth. Maybe not all of it, but this lie- this pretend act they were putting on, that he was only too willing to believe himself, that he'd just went on a blissfully happy vacation for seven years and none of it was real or mattered, that nothing had changed- it wasn't sustainable. He'd have to break this silence some day, and tell them the truth.

None of that meant he wasn't grateful enough for them allowing him to keep it secret for now that he couldn't even consider working up the will to tell the whole story again now.

Later. He'd do it- later.

After... Risembool.

As Roy had promised, the news of his return was kept somewhat quiet, out of the media so Winry wouldn't have to find out from a newspaper headline. It wouldn't last forever, but it no longer needed to; ready or not, plans were being made for travel to Risembool the moment he was allowed. Until then, Ed was content to just spend each day tagging along after Roy to haunt the office, listening in to slowly adapt to what all he had missed. After all, it wasn't just his life that had moved on- theirs had, too. And if he was going to try and step back into the life he'd left, then he was going to have to do it with each and every last change that he had missed.

Havoc was engaged, apparently, to some captain he didn't remember; Catalina. Ed found himself invited to the wedding over the course of a single conversation- something he wasn't sure whether he was comfortable with, or just unsettled by. A wedding that he knew next to nothing about, filled mostly with people he had never even met before. Scieska had come back, attaching herself as one of Roy's assistants once Hughes' team had been dissolved, and according to most of the office was smitten with Falman. According to Falman, there was no such smittening going on anywhere and if they could all just kindly mind their own business, _thank you very much._ Fuery had finally gotten himself the puppy he'd always wanted- a puppy that was banned from the office, because it couldn't play nice with Hayate.

Alex Louis and a few others had quit after everything that had happened seven years ago, not wishing to be associated with the state any longer and working out east instead, to try and start rebuilding Ishval even without the military's support. Apparently they'd extended an offer for Roy to join them as well at the time, only for him to quietly turn it down without explanation, then retreat back north. It had ended up being for the best, somehow; now that Roy was a general, he could slip resources and support their way- which was something that surprised Ed, since Roy had never even mentioned it. Seemed his life hadn't _completely_ stagnated after the disaster seven years ago- even if it may have felt like it had.

That, Ed at least could understand.

After all, here he was himself, with his life moving on- and sometimes, still feeling like it was just dragging him along after it, because he was still stuck in Munich, and what could have been.

Sitting in Roy's office like that, listening to all the stories move around him and over his head, just felt... _off_. Like they were talking to someone else, someone they remembered him to be but that he wasn't anymore, and that here he sat, impersonating him. Like he had once belonged here, once found it almost home- but now, he was just a stranger.

It felt, he remembered, just like it had to meet Elicia again for the first time, and meet a teenager instead of a child.

 _Everything_ had changed. Not just him, not just Roy- this whole world had changed, and so had Ed, but he hadn't changed with it. He didn't know these people who were his friends anymore, and sometimes, sitting there in the middle of this friendly crowd talking to him, he felt more lonely than he had ever before.

Ed thought that they figured it out after a while, because eventually, more often than not, they left him alone in an uncertain silence, slowly stopping their attempts to fill him in as they realized seven years couldn't be caught up on just with a few stories and laughs. Slowly, Ed started to find himself most often just sitting in his claimed corner in uncomfortable silence.

Sometimes, it really would get too much, and he would just bolt to his feet to retreat into Roy's inner office. At least there, it was safe. At least there- even if Roy had looked at him oddly the first time or two- the bastard understood, and _knew,_ and wouldn't question him on it.

Other times, however, he made himself stay.

Whenever the team went out of their way to include him, trying- genuinely trying- to force a shape back into their dynamic where he was supposed to _fit,_ it always felt awkward, uncomfortable, and _wrong._ He knew he should've felt grateful that they were trying to make a place for him at all; after all, he only barely even deserved it, and it definitely would've been easier for them all if they'd just ignored him- but it always felt wrong. _Off._ Ed had never been able to shake the feeling that he was suddenly a stranger to them, and the awkward, easygoing, forced air simply wasn't _right._

But, when they slowly grew more comfortable with him just lurking in the corner listening, and started to shift back into what was natural for them, giving Ed the chance to just sit and listen... just sit, listen, and slowly, slide back into place on a team that he still remembered very well and cared for-

That, he could do.

That, he did.

And sometimes, he almost felt like he belonged.

* * *

He passed his medical checkup. Again, _somehow_ ; sure, he was healthy enough to sit in a research lab and not keel over, but that was about it- even his new limbs were starting to show signs of wear and tear and needed maintenance. Ed had decided just not to mention to the military physician he was soon to switch those out for automail, and would end up with a month of more of medical leave just after being re-instated.

He passed Hakuro's inspection, too. Which the team had all sworn to him over and over that he would, but Ed didn't miss the little gleam of relief in them all when the proclamation of safety was finally handed down. He'd found himself being hugged that day so many times he nearly felt like the stuffing had been squeezed out of him; everyone from Gracia gently wrapping her arms around him and smiling to Havoc lifting him up into the air with a whoop of victory.

Roy, the bastard, had watched from across the room, smirking at his predicament, and made zero attempt to free him. But there'd been relief in his eye, too, relief because even though Roy had promised him safety just as vehemently as the rest of them he'd been worried, too- and it wasn't until Ed had seen that relief that he'd really actually believed it was finally over.

Well... finally over, except for that last step, anyway.

Going back to Risembool.

Which Ed could hide from no longer, because with the notice that he was at last home free- in so many more ways than one- had also come two train tickets.

Train tickets he'd accepted with a false smile and a knot in his stomach so tight he'd nearly thrown up all over them, because he didn't have a choice anymore.

He was done running.

* * *

Hawkeye and Havoc took them to the train station, when the day finally came.

Ed couldn't stop fidgeting in his seat, twitching and shifting with the urge to run. He knew he'd feel better once he got on the train itself. Or, at least, he'd _better_ , because it was a week's trip and Ed really didn't think he'd be able to survive it if he spent the whole trip a damn nervous wreck like this. His stomach was tying itself into knots, and his hands were shaking in his lap, and no matter how hard he tried he just _couldn't_ keep himself still.

Winry was going to be devastated. She was going to miss Al, she was going to blame him because she _should_ because it was his _fault,_ she was going to cry, she was going to _hate him_ for bringing all this pain back up to her when she'd already moved on- he was going to hurt her so _much._ Again! Again, because that was all he ever managed to do to her- god, he should just stay in Central. That was what he had to do. Just stay and hide here in Roy's house forever. Because all he ever fucking managed to do was hurt people, and for some reason Roy put up with it, but he'd broken Winry's heart over and over again and hadn't it been _enough_ , already; why did he have to drag her back here to find out Al was dead and he was such a mess he was never going to be the person she remembered again? That Al was dead, and the Ed she remembered was gone, and it was all his _fault?_

No part of him wanted to do this. No part of him was ready for it.

But it was either this, or let Winry find it out through rumor and grapevine that the Fullmetal Alchemist was back from the dead, and he knew that, after everything he'd already done to her, that would be the last blow that she would never forgive him for. _That_ would be hurting her too much for him ever to earn a second chance.

If he could even deserve one now.

They pulled up to the train station at last, an interminable ride through early morning Central with Ed's hands shaking the whole time and terrified nausea rising. He didn't even look at the trains as he forced himself out of the car, door slammed shut behind him, just staring at his feet- but he couldn't cover his ears to the soon to be earsplitting whistles and screeches of metal, he couldn't just _not_ smell the fuel and oil. It was too late. This was it. He was here, and there was nowhere to run anymore.

Roy silently got out as well, moving to stand next to him, and only a moment later they were joined by Hawkeye and Havoc. He didn't know how Roy had gotten the time off to accompany him like this, and for once, he didn't care. He knew he was a burden, he knew he was messing _everything_ up for _everyone,_ he knew Roy was dropping everything for nearly a whole damn month just to come with him and felt all the worse for it but right now, at this moment, Ed didn't care. He knew he needed _someone_ to come with him for this, because if he went alone, something told him he'd lose heart before even making it to Risembool and would find himself on the next train to _literally anywhere elseville._

And if someone had to come with him, he was at least glad that it was Roy.

"...and thank you, again, for everything," Roy was saying quietly, exchanging goodbyes with his subordinates. Ed couldn't help but fidget next to him again, eyes on the ground. "If something happens, you know how to get in contact with me. If not, I'll call when we reach Risembool, just to check in."

"I'll expect it, sir. Safe travels."

He saw Roy nod out of the corner of his eye and his two subordinates salute- but then-

Then, even with his gaze still down on the floor, Ed somehow just _felt_ all the attention turn to him.

He swallowed tightly, fisting his hands in his pockets, and winced through the anxious tightening of the nervous knot in his stomach.

Jerkily, he forced himself to look up.

Havoc was waiting for it, the soldier smiling a little when Ed finally managed to meet his gaze. Next to them, Hawkeye suddenly was pulling a little on Roy's hand, guiding him a little way's off towards the trains to give them some privacy, and Ed suddenly found a little kernel of unease joining the already present nest of anxiety inside him. What was going on? Roy didn't seem to know, either, giving his adjutant a surprised look even as he went along with her- what were they planing? Why did they suddenly have to be alone for this?

"Hey, Chief," Havoc said with another easygoing smile, taking a step back to lean against the car. "So- Risembool, and little Miss Rockbell. You ready?"

Ed shifted again, just unable to help himself from fidgeting on the spot. "No," he muttered honestly, twitching. Why couldn't he just get to the damn _point?_ He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want _any of this_.

Havoc's smiled dimmed a little, but it seemed he at least understood the reasoning for the short response. The soldier nodded a little, sober eyes resting on him in silent speculation. "You'll be fine, Chief," he told him finally, "you'll see." And then, before Ed was given the chance to protest or complain or think about it, Havoc had turned back to the car, yanking out a small box from the front seat, then thrust it at him, thrust it so quickly Ed didn't have the chance to refuse and suddenly found himself stumbling back a step with the sudden small, lightweight thing in his hands.

"Here you go," Havoc said, offering up a small grin again. "Just something that we put together at the office, that you can look at on the train."

Ed blinked, staring at him. What? A present?

Somehow, he felt almost even more uncomfortable standing, shifting the weight of the box in his arms. Something he definitely didn't deserve, not the gesture or the thought that had gone into it- but also something he was clearly supposed to react to now. Havoc was still standing there, grinning, looking down at him, Hawkeye and Roy were still walking to the train station together, backs to him, and it was obvious he was meant to open it and react to it now.

Swallowing tightly, Ed tore his eyes down to thrust his hand inside, and ignoring the anxiety collecting in him from head to toe.

First he met some thick, shredded up wrapping paper; he pushed through it to meet what felt like a large book of some kind. Balancing the box against his hip and the side of the car, Ed yanked it out one-handedly and flipped it open to the first page.

His eyes widened, and for a moment, his chest felt like it was being squeezed so tightly it hurt to breathe.

"It was Gracia's idea, actually," he heard Havoc say, "but we all helped a little. We know it may not help all that much, and Mustang said something about you maybe wanting to stay in Risembool anyway, but- but just in case..."

Ed was too busy staring downwards, however, to say anything at all.

They'd made him a photo album.

Page after page, he realized as he turned through it, almost enraptured- page after page of everything that he'd missed. Some with little notations explaining, some looking as if no one remembered what had happened anymore but they'd included it anyway because they'd known it would mean something. Sometimes it was Gracia and Elicia, sometimes it was the military- sometimes, he realized as he flipped through it, it was even pictures from _before._ Pictures with Al in the suit of armor in them, and Roy without his eyepatch, and Hughes, and- and _himself._ He was in some of them, too.

A much younger him. A much more naive, and loud, and probably annoying, and...

And happier him.

A much happier him.

This wasn't just a scrapbook of what he'd missed over the years, he realized with a sorrowful pang. It was of what he'd missed from his childhood, and the years he'd grown up in a military office and on the road. It was everything that he remembered and missed and wanted, and that he could never have again.

The Ed that didn't exist anymore- the _Al_ that didn't exist at all, anymore. Neither of them did. And that hurt to remember, both of them, but at the same time...

At the same time, he loved it.

"...Thank you," he mumbled out finally. His voice sounded thick, and Ed slowly let a trembling hand to fall to rest on one of the pictures; this one, showcasing his parade ground battle with Roy, with Al shaking his head mournfully at the ongoing disaster just inside the frame. "I... thank you so much."

He'd been right, before. He definitely didn't deserve it, and it meant the world to him all the same.

Havoc laughed quietly, sounding a little put on and embarrassed by it all. "Don't worry about it, Chief," he returned easily, leaning against the car as well, and gave an awkward cough. "There's, um... there's one more part to it, actually."

Ed started, then coughed thickly, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat or at least get a firmer grip on himself. Shutting the book quickly, he shifted to tuck it under his arm while he reached back into the box, already searching for what _other_ amazing thing that the team had done for him.

This one, however, didn't need any explanation. He knew exactly what it was the very moment he saw it.

It was his old, red coat.

Just piled there in a little heap at the bottom of the box, previously a cushion for the photo album, now a little crimson pillow, folded neatly just so the black symbol on the back stared up at him in a blast of memory.

A wave of stunned remembrance slammed into him with all the weight of a truck, and a single low, unsteady gasp was sucked in through suddenly clenched teeth.

Havoc lowered his voice, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. "When Al left with you, that last time, it ended up going to me and Hawkeye, to clear out his room here in Central. Most of it was just old alchemy books; we ended up giving them to the library, and Winry took most of everything else back, but she said we should at least keep this. ...We figured you would want it."

At first, Ed didn't even get it; if it hadn't been for the photo album, he might not have. He'd only actually seen his brother wear the red coat once, the day Al had joined him in going back to Germany, and once there, he'd gotten rid of it pretty quickly. But in this new photo album fresh in his hands, even though he'd only spent ten seconds staring at it, he'd seen the pictures- the pictures of his brother, finally restored, and actually _happy,_ and- and wearing the red coat.

It wasn't just his, anymore. It was Al's, too.

"...Oh," he said finally, the word distant and quiet to his own ears, and slowly buried a hand in the faded red cloth.

His heart suddenly ached so much he thought it would burst.

"Ed! Hey, is everything okay? We need to hurry; the train's leaving soon!"

It took him a second to even start at Roy's call, hands shaking and mind overfilled with memory and sorrow and gratitude and a relieved sort of anguish. He stumbled into a jerky nod, then coughed once, twice, trying to clear his throat as he looked back up at Havoc, who was watching him sympathetically. "I-" he tried to say, hands trembling, "I- Havoc, you-"

"Got it," the soldier answered easily, nodding back without hesitation. "Don't worry about it, really- you deserved to have it back." He moved Ed around with a sudden hand on his shoulder, turning him back to face the train station and where Roy was waiting, then pushed him along, getting his numb legs to move before Ed had even processed it. "Good luck in Risembool! See you next time, Ed!"

And somehow, before he knew it, Ed was stumbling along back to Roy with Havoc waving goodbye behind him, his heart racing, and hugging the precious box close to his chest with all his strength.

* * *

His subordinates, Roy decided, were the most fantastic team in the entire military.

Before this trip had started, he'd been immeasurably worried. He knew Ed, and therefore, he'd expected to send every last day trying to deal with an Ed that was approaching a nervous wreck. Pacing, cursing, fidgeting, unable to even sleep... it wouldn't have been a fun trip for Ed, and since Roy was here for the ride and tasked with taking care of him, it wouldn't have been a fun trip for him, either. He hadn't been looking forward to it in the slightest, and had anticipated arriving in Risembool with the both of them half-dead.

Then, his subordinates had stormed onto the scene, presenting Ed with their box of wonders, his prediction had been shattered overnight.

Here they sat, over five hours out of Central- and Ed had yet to fidget or pace even once.

No. For the entire time, Ed had just sat there, gleefully buried in the photo album with his red coat used as a blanket. It had to be the most relaxed Roy had seen him in weeks, and, like most good things in his life, it was entirely his subordinates' doing.

God, they all deserved a raise.

A little out of Central, Roy had bought them both something to eat, since he knew Ed had been too nervous to eat much the night before. To his surprise and delight, Ed had barely even paid him any mind, just agreeing to the food and slowly nibbling on it with one hand, the other still turning through the photo album. He let Skullfire lick the remains off fingers- Skullfire, who Ed had smuggled onto the train, and who Roy had been annoyed by at first but was now just grateful, because the little feral beast was helping Ed to calm down even more. He was curled up in the box next to Ed, making a nest of the wrapping paper he was immersed in and happily ripping it to shreds, but was only too happy to turn his attention elsewhere whenever Ed would reach a hand over to feed him. Ed was just as distracted as the cat, and, once again, Roy knew this was at least going to start out much better than he could've ever hoped for.

There he was, five hours out of Central, when Ed finally started to pay attention to him again.

Roy didn't notice it at first, having grown rather bored of just staring at Ed and turned his gaze out the window instead a long time ago. But when Ed looked up at him, looked back down at the photo album, then lifted his gaze back up to just stare openly right at him, he couldn't help but cough uncomfortably, frowning still out the window. "Something wrong?"

Ed said nothing. He just looked back down at the photo album, then back at Roy. He stared.

Frowning again, Roy finally turned back to face him, scowling a little at the photo album still sitting in his lap. What on _earth_ had his subordinates put in there...? _"What?"_ he asked pointedly again, tilting his head to the side.

Ed stared at him for one moment longer.

Then, he just raised his red coat up to cover his mouth and snickered.

Glaring now, Roy shifted to pull the book around so he could see whatever had thrown Ed so much for himself. He ran his eye down the pages, searching, confused-

Oh.

A warm flush abruptly heated his face, and suddenly, Roy found himself frozen in place, staring down at the travesty before him.

Oh. Fuck.

"...Not a word," he growled out at last. He glared even harder down at the page.

Ed's laughter finally rose from muffled softly into his coat levels into audible, grating, _rude_ chuckles. "You look like a fucking idiot," he gasped out at last, giving absolutely no room for argument, and Roy slammed the book shut.

"I'll have you know that I happened to think I looked distinguished. My team just... disagreed-"

" _Distinguished?!"_

"...Yes, Ed, distinguished."

And then there was no room for him to say anything else, because the petulant brat across from him was howling in laughter. He looked like he was about to choke on his own hilarity and suffocate, for god's sake, doubling over on himself and pounding a fist against the seat, red-faced and gasping for breath- all while Roy sat there silently, and seethed.

" _Distinguished!"_ Ed finally cried again, gasping for breath and actually clutching his sides, trembling in his seat. "All right, first of all, bastard, you wouldn't know distinguished if it bit you in the ass, but-"

" _Excuse_ me? I'll have you know-"

" _You look like an idiot!_ There's no excuse! None! You look _stupid!_ That is the worst I have ever seen anybody look in my life! No one could _ever_ look any worse than you do right here! It's like something disgusting just crawled onto your face and died! Oh my god, what were you _thinking?_ Distinguished? _Distinguished?!"_

Still gasping, Ed snatched the book back and tore back to the page in eager delight, then flipped it back around to show it to Roy. Like he hadn't seen it already. Like he hadn't had his subordinates tease him about it to hell and back for years already. Like he didn't have that fateful image already seared into his brain forever.

Him. And his apparently very ill-fated mustache.

Even worse than the picture, however, was Riza's neat script beneath it.

_Never forget._

Riza. Goddammit, even _Riza_ had betrayed him now.

He really had thought it made him look distinguished, he remembered, his face flushing even hotter. It had just so happened that his team had disagreed. And Gracia. And the new secretary downstairs. And... the entire world, essentially.

And Ed, meanwhile, chortling across from him, was _not_ helping his pride right now, thank you very much.

"...In case you'd forgotten," he said at last, voice strained and hands clenched, "I _am_ half-blind now. So, you'll have to forgive me that my vision is not what it once was. Clearly, I just-"

The rest of his words were swallowed up by another criminal whoop of laughter. Ed just buried his face back down in the picture, gasping for breath, and laughed his damn head off.

Roy, seething, sat back in his seat, and contemplated murder.

"Remind me to fire Havoc," he muttered darkly, glaring, and Ed just kept on laughing.

* * *

The journey to Risembool was set to last seven days, and take eleven trains to make it there. Things got easier going the farther they got away from Central; hotels less busier, trains less cramped. Roy, more often than not, found himself leading the way. Once upon a time, Ed had known this journey like the back of his own hand- but seven years was a long time for people, and it was even longer for the countryside, in a nation busy industrializing as fast as it could. Some of the cities they traveled through hadn't even existed seven years ago. Many others were so changed they were unrecognizable to the kid, and more than once Ed would eagerly step off the train, talking about this cafe or that sightseeing spot he was going to drag Roy to- only to stop dead the moment he got off the platform, because he had no idea where he was.

Ed, quite plainly, hated it.

He seemed to feel more and more uncomfortable with how much of a stranger to this land he had become with each passing day. By their last night staying in a hotel, Ed had barely spoken at all and had spent most of the night with his back to Roy, pretending to sleep and petting Skullfire. Once again, he'd skipped dinner. The good spirits that Havoc and Hawkeye had managed to spur on that day at the station, slowly waning as they wound their way through the countryside, were all but gone.

The next morning, Ed had followed him onto the almost deserted train with tired eyes and a shadowed face, his long hair shielding him from Roy's view, and hadn't said a word once again as he'd trailed him into one of the many empty compartments. The box with the photos and Skullfire remained tucked neatly to his chest while his coat, already destined to become a blanket soon once again, was pillowed in his arms.

He looked terrible.

He looked like he wanted to crawl back home to Central and never be seen by anyone again.

But he also didn't have a choice, and by now, not even Roy could deny it.

He watched as Ed trudged into the compartment, setting himself up by the window with Skullfire beside him. Wordlessly, the kid pulled his legs up onto the street and covered himself in his coat, resting his head on his knees, and just turned to stare out the window. Next to him, Skullfire purred quietly, pacing around in his box; Ed didn't even look at him.

Sighing heavily, Roy followed him inside, and shut the door.

This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

By bad luck and bad scheduling, this last train was an overnight one. With a few stops along the way, it was a twenty hour long ride for them, one that would end bright and early the next morning in Risembool. Sleeping on trains was never fun, but Roy honestly doubted it would matter, to Ed, whether he had the softest bed in the universe that night; it was obvious he wasn't going to be able to rest well no matter where he was.

But, he felt duty-bound to at least try and talk to him.

So, after getting back from one last walk down the train to stretch, Roy paused in the door to their compartment, looking down to where Ed was now listlessly staring at the photo album in his lap, his hands tucked under his coat. "It's late," he announced bluntly, then coughed, clearing his throat. Some of the first words he'd said all day, in the uncomfortable silence that dominated this small space. "You should try and get some sleep now. Skullfire already is, and I know I'm going to."

Ed paused, still staring downwards.

Then, with a heavy sigh, Ed slumped even more into his corner and glanced upwards to him, pulling his coat tighter around himself. "You and I both know I'm not going to be able to. Why bother?"

Roy sighed.

 _Someday,_ he thought, _Ed is going to kill himself through stress alone, and I'm going to be left to deal with the body._

Silently, he crossed the room to sit back down across from Ed, pulling his own jacket back around his shoulders, and just leaned back to watch him.

Ed didn't need any more prompting than that to start talking, his own fatigue and nervous energy getting the better of him after only a tense moment of quiet. "It's stupid," he muttered, waving a hand, seeming to be talking almost to himself more than Roy. "She's not going to want to see me, you know. She shouldn't. I- I wouldn't blame her... after everything I've put her through, I-"

"You know that's not true."

"But..." Ed groaned, sinking even further to himself. He still wouldn't look at Roy, glaring alternately between his legs and out the darkened window. One hand buried itself in the folds of his old coat again, stretching the faded cloth between his fingers.

"Maybe I should give this to you to take back," the kid said suddenly, switching topics. By the strained, exhausted look on his face, Roy knew better than to question him on it as Ed raised the jacket a little, as if offering it to him. "I don't think I'm going to wear it anymore, but it feels like its survived too much for me to just get rid of it. You know?"

Roy raised an eyebrow, looking over the tacky, trademark coat. "...Never thought the day would come when I'd see you give that thing up," he said at last. If Ed wanted to talk about the coat instead of Winry, then fine with him. At least he was doing something over than slowly stewing over there, stressing himself to his death. One thing was certain; talking about Winry would just make him feel even worse, and he'd end up never relaxing at all. Maybe this way he could distract himself, and if not actually sleep, at least calm down a little. Whatever the reason, if it would help Ed, Roy knew he was only too willing to oblige.

Ed just gave him a weak little shrug, looking back down to play with the cloth again. "Wanna know the only reason I wore it for so long in the first place?"

"...Something tells me that I do not."

Ed smirked, but there was something weak and fragile about it. "You harassing me about it." He scrunched his face up, voice jumping up an octave or more into a grating, hideous whine of an impersonation. _"You look ridiculous, Fullmetal. Who ever heard of a soldier refusing to wear his uniform? Do you want to stick out like a sore thumb to terrorists, because that's how you stick out like a sore thumb to terrorists._ Bleh." He stuck out his tongue sourly, though when he rolled his eyes he looked more amused than annoyed.

Roy relaxed a little more. At least Ed seemed calmer now- even if it had to come at the cost, once again, of his pride. "Well," he said softly, "I'm sorry for asking you to simply follow regulation like all the rest of us. But, we just found it amusing, Ed. You had no problem following orders to singlehandedly go and take terrorist cells apart or destroy entire criminal enterprises- but just wearing the uniform? That was too much to ask."

"Yeah, because there was no point to it. I didn't do it because you told me to, and the only reason was because it was the rules. So I didn't want to, because I was just a stupid kid- didn't want to do anything if you'd told me to." Then he laughed, rolling his eyes again. "That and the damn thing was just ugly. I told you then and I'm telling you now, I refuse to wear the silly ass cape."

"...It's called a cavalry skirt, Ed."

"Yeah, and I call it an ass cape, because that's what it is, and it looks stupid. Anyway." He smirked as he burrowed even deeper into his corner, burying his hands more underneath his red coat. "Like I said... I'm not going to wear this anymore. I'm not the same person anymore. I... I'm _not_ a little kid anymore." His tired eyes held dark but steady as he looked back down at it, voice firm, but his expression started to soften until uncertainty as his gaze trailed over the black blood seal he had emblazoned into the fabric so long ago. "I know... I know Havoc gave it to me because... it was Al's. I know that's why he... but..."

The indecision and grief on his face, impossible to put into words, said everything that Ed couldn't.

Roy paused for one long moment, looking over where Ed was hunched underneath his coat again.

"I think that you should keep it," he said at last, turning his gaze back out the window. "You don't have to wear it anymore if you don't want to, Ed. But, at least for now, I think that you should hold onto it."

Ed would regret it, Roy knew, if he got rid of it. Maybe not now; maybe it just hurt, to have it and look at it and remember now- but someday, Ed would look around, and he would realize that he wanted this keepsake of his brother's back.

And when Ed didn't say anything, he knew that, on some level, Ed knew that, too.

It was quiet for several long, strained moments. Ed stared wordlessly out the window, clutching tightly onto his coat, regret and anxiety written into every tired line on his face.

"She's not going to want to see me," he said abruptly again. His voice was even smaller than before, and when the words escaped him he shrank back a little more, shivering against the shadows.

Roy sighed tiredly.

Back to the heart of the matter, then.

"Yes, she is," he said firmly.

But Ed shook his head again, shook it once before just burying it back into his knees. "I told her the next time she saw us, the next time we made her cry, it'd be because she was happy. I told her that. ...And it was a _lie_ , and it's... it's my fault."

This time, his voice so small Roy almost couldn't hear it all.

He did hear the unsteady crack in it, near the end.

Once again, it was quiet for several moments. The only noise was the constant, dull soundtrack of the train around them, and Ed's quiet, ragged breathing.

Roy turned his gaze out the window as well, folding his arms underneath his own jacket, and shut his eye. "I think," he said at last, "that you don't want to hurt her. That much is true. I also think, however, that you know Winry isn't going to say any of those things to you. You know she won't hate you or blame you- and that's why you haven't wanted to go back to see her, isn't it? Because some part of you still hates and blames yourself, and you don't want to hear Winry tell you it's not true, because you think you'll believe her, Ed. And you still think that you don't deserve her forgiving it."

Ed said nothing back to him, huddled there with his head down to wait until morning, and Roy, with one last, tired sigh, did the same.


	25. Y is for Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for comments/kudos!!! Really make my day <3 Annnnd.... penultimate chapter??? Huh??? Um... wow.....

The first thing Winry did when she opened her door to meet the two alchemists waiting on her doorstep was stop moving entirely.

She didn't yell at him. She didn't slap him. She didn't slam the door in his face.

She just opened the door, then stopped.

Ed shifted uneasily, stomach lurching so unsettlingly he really thought he was about to throw up. His face hot and his insides squirming and his legs starting to tremble, he looked to the ground.

Winry still didn't say anything.

"...Hi," he croaked out at last. His voice came out pathetically tiny, and Ed really thought he would've turned tail and ran, if his feet hadn't been too numb to manage it.

A foot or two behind him, he heard Roy shift uncomfortably, just as silent as Winry. Neither of them said a single word, and Ed found himself just as speechless as them.

After several long, suffocating moments, Winry just fell.

He saw her drop numbly back, landing hard to sit on the tallest step with her hands fallen limply by her sides a tiny breath escaping her with the force of the fall- but she didn't wince. Her numb, shocked stare didn't even shift. She just continued to look at him with wide, stunned eyes, mouth dropped open, the look on her face almost chillingly empty of comprehension or understanding.

It was better than he'd feared. It was also better than he really deserved.

But Ed knew that standing there like this, trying to wait for Winry to make the next move, was wrong. It just wasn't fair. He was the one to have kept everything from her like this. He was the one to have broken into her life over seven years after leaving it. He was the reason she was sitting there, limp with shock, and he was the reason why she'd been left behind alone seven years ago- and he was the reason that she was going to get her heart broken all over again.

It wasn't fair of him to make her wait any longer anymore.

"I'm sorry," he said thickly, then coughed and cleared his throat. It didn't help to dislodge the emotion welling there, not at all, and his stomach lurched threateningly again. He tried again. "I'm s-sorry... Winry."

His old friend twitched spastically, shoulders jerking as her face started to contort in shock. A hand jumped up to cover her mouth, clutching desperately tight, but even that couldn't muffle or hide the distraught lines twisting into her face or the slow building of tears in her eyes.

It was the fact that she looked so much older than he remembered that made it so much harder to keep going on. So much more... different.

As different, he knew, as he himself had to look. Changed. Unfamiliar.

 _Different_.

Older, because she'd once been so young- and so had he, and so had Al. But he'd made hurt her over and over until he'd forced her to leave childhood behind with him, and Al had _died_ , young forever-

_And it's your fault._

"...I'm sorry, Winry" he said again finally, each word an anguishing miracle to force out but he endured it all because she deserved it, and he didn't. She deserved nothing less than the truth, and for once in his life, he'd be able to give her what she deserved. "I'm sorry. ...Al is dead."

And there it finally was. The last terrible, unforgivable truth, right out there in the open where he couldn't deny it any longer. There it was. He'd said it. Al was dead.

Those words, somehow, had become more familiar to him now than his childhood friend looked now.

He knew the admission that his brother was dead better than he knew her.

And for the first time, he realized that Winry wasn't the only one coming into this with a broken heart.

It seemed to take a few moments for the words to actually sink in, his old friend still motionless and stricken features frozen in rapt disbelief. At first there was no reaction at all, such a chilling lack of an answer that he almost withdrew another step, nerves alive with the apprehension and terror of the blow he'd just given her, the pain he _knew_ he was going to wrench out from her- but he couldn't let himself run away. He'd run when he was twelve, he'd run away away seven years ago, he'd run away five years ago... he'd spent these whole last five months just _running_.

He had to stop it now, or he never would.

So Ed ignored his terrified nausea, and his shaking hands, and he shelved his own grief to force himself another step closer to where Winry just sat there, hands over her mouth, eyes now flooded with tears. "I'm sorry-" he coughed, almost choking on it, god the words were even harder to get out now, but he _had_ to, he _had_ to do this for her, "I'm s-sorry I couldn't- c-couldn't bring him... home for you. I couldn't... I tried. I'm sorry. I promise, Winry, I tried, but I just- I wasn't _enough!_ And I'm _sorry,_ and- and-"

His breath caught again, torturous in his chest as the words again stumbled to a lurching halt, the guilt and anguish wrenching him to silence to stop a crack from dissolving into a shout. This was it. He was here, he was home, with Winry, it was the last step, everything was finally done-

And Al wasn't here with him.

Al would _never_ be here with him again.

The breath left him again in a shocked gasp and it suddenly took everything he had not to follow Winry to the ground on his knees, legs turned to jelly and stomach dropped straight to his feet. The fact hit him like being punched in the gut over and over again, just that simple fact, no more and no less- not that it was his fault, not everything else that had happened to him in the concentration camp, not the anguish of watching Rainart execute him and the torture of Ed executing him straight back, not the knowledge of how he'd hurt Roy or what he was doing to Winry right now but just the simple fact that Al was dead.

He was finally back home. The place he'd spent all his life running towards...

And in that terrible, anguishing moment, he realized that it didn't matter, because Al wasn't here with him, and he never would be again.

The grief knocked him breathless and for one heartwrenching moment, the world spun so violently if it hadn't been for Roy suddenly appearing behind him, hands on his shoulders, he really would've fallen and not been able to get up again.

"I'm- sorry-" he gasped out and self-disgust and anguish swept through him again; god, the words were so broken he could barely understand them himself, she deserved so much more from him- and now she was doubled over, hands still clutched to her mouth and sobbing, because of _him,_ but he just couldn't stop. "I'm sorry- you- you d-don't have to forgive me, Winry, but- you never have to forgive me for this, but I- but I just- w-wanted- Winry-"

Winry, with one single, wordless cry, threw herself up off the porch and flung herself straight into his arms.

Something in him shattered.

"I'm sorry-" he gasped miserably again, because he just couldn't stop himself. The words broke and shattered and they still forced themselves out again, this time more of a griefstricken moan, and instinct drove his arms up to wrap them back around her as she clutched onto his jacket and cried. He tried to swallow his own sob, but when the first one came out he couldn't stop the next one, or the one after that, and soon he was crying too hard to talk and Winry was holding him up just as much as he was holding her.

_I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..._

_Al..._

_I'm so sorry, Al..._

He couldn't talk anymore. He couldn't so much as say a single word, and holding her like this as she sobbed felt far too little, and far too late. He'd done this to her, and he'd killed Al, and none of it mattered because suddenly all he could do was just stand there and feel like the most awful, terrible, lost person in the world-

Because Al was gone.

He was somewhere he'd once called home, but it wasn't anymore, because Al wasn't here with him.

Risembool wasn't worth anything if Al and Winry weren't here with him for it.

And in that moment, standing there with Winry's arms around him and Roy at his back and his heart broken inside him, he realized he'd never felt more lonely in his entire life.

And he couldn't do anything to fix it.

_I'm so sorry... Al, Winry, everyone... Al..._

_I'm SORRY..._

Ed couldn't count how many moments they stood there together, Winry fists digging painfully into his back and her slim, changed form trembling in his arms. He couldn't talk anymore, every time he tried to apologize again the words robbed away in a broken breath and anguish whiplashing through him again; the only reason he was even still standing was because Winry was holding him up the same way he held her. It had to have lasted minutes, the cold wind cutting through them and Winry's gasps finally dwindling into small, hitched breaths of grief.

But finally, while Ed found himself still all but inconsolable, utterly incapable of getting more than a single broken beyond all ruin word out, Winry spoke to him for the first time.

"Welcome home, idiot," she mumbled, her voice just as thick and tremulous as his, and buried her face back into his shoulder.

* * *

For the first time since leaving Central well over a week ago, Roy let himself fully and truly relax.

He looked up hesitantly as Pinako wordlessly set a mug of something steaming down in front of him. Based off the day he'd had, he was hoping for something a little strong, even though he knew he shouldn't- but he wasn't about to ask. "Thank you," was all he said, cautiously reaching out to wrap both his hands around it without lifting it just yet. "This... is more gracious than I deserve."

The mechanic simply shook her head, moving to sit down across from him and going to her own drink. "Maybe it is, but if Winry is willing to have you here, then I can be, too. There's nothing to be gained from turning you out now." She paused, giving him a look that wasn't friendly, but not unkind, either. "You should drink that. Whiskey's not easy to get, out here."

Roy swallowed a weak grin, glancing back at his drink. Tea mixed with whiskey, then. "...I'm not much of a drinker, anymore," he put forth softly, but gave it no more pause than that before lifting it up off the table. "Again, thank you kindly." He broke off for a moment, glancing cautiously back off to the side.

Ed and Winry were still outside, sitting together in the dark, lit only by the lamps from inside the house. Winry was pressed close against him, arm around his side while Ed's rested over her shoulder, their heads leaning together, sometimes speaking quietly to each other, sometimes saying nothing at all, but one or both sets of shoulders hitching with another round of grief and crying. The Rockbells' dog had joined them outside at some point, crawled over with his head resting in Ed's lap with his tail thumping slowly against Winry's leg. Because it had looked like neither of them had been going to move any time soon, Roy had left his jacket out there, which at some point had ended up drawn around both of their shoulders, clutched in Ed's hand tightly almost like a blanket.

Sitting there like that, a brokenhearted and grieving pair of old childhood friends, it was only too easy, and painful, for Roy to see that they were missing one more.

He had joined Pinako inside rather swiftly, not wishing to intrude any longer on their anguishing reunion. Pinako had been just as shocked as her granddaughter, but had clearly decided to wait with him for the same reason, wishing to let the kids get themselves steady again before she went outside to properly see Ed for the first time in seven years. Roy had already told her about Al, and at the slow, somber sigh that had been his answer, he'd known that she'd suspected as such, for a long time.

That hadn't made it any easier, but he hoped it would make it easier for her to help Ed in the days to come.

After several moments, Roy cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking back to the mechanic. "I feel like I ought to apologize to you," he began, somewhat uncertainly- because of all the people he owed an apology to, Pinako and Winry Rockbell were perhaps at the very top of that list. "For always bringing such poor news and grief with me, whenever I've come here, I mean. I can promise that the only reason I've never told you this before now is because Ed asked me not to, and this was something that I felt needed to be his choice. If I'd been able to tell you, I would have."

Once again, the mechanic gave him a heavy sigh, her gaze, too, turned out the screened door to watch the trembling pair outside in the cold and the dark. "And I believe you, General. You brought Ed back home to us, late or not... there's no need to apologize for that." She broke off to turn a frown back in his direction, eyes darkening with an accusing light. "You told us that he was as good as dead. And Al, too, when he followed him."

He nodded slowly, swallowing another deep sigh. "Yes. Yes, I did, and... and, for that, too, I apologize. I wouldn't have put you through that if I'd known... I didn't understand the alchemy as well as I thought I did, back then, ma'am- Ed doesn't seem to really understand it, either. Back then, I believed we'd never see him again- and I know Ed and Al thought that'd be the case, too, when they left together." He hesitated again, then pushed forwards, voice dipping into an earnest sort of oath, trying to get her to understand. "Ms. Rockbell, if I'd known there was a chance- even the smallest one; if I'd ever known there was a chance they could come home, I would have told you that. I swear it. I'd never have-" Roy stopped, gritting his teeth, then just shook his head and swallowed the rest of his impassioned defense. Now wasn't the time or the place for this. If being angry with him for this unintended deceit helped her or Winry, then he had no right to take it from them.

But, his words remained the truth, all the same. He'd only told the Rockbells that Ed and Al were as good as dead to them because it _had_ been the truth, back then, and they'd not deserved him to stand there and lie to them. The truth was harsh and cruel, and it had hurt very badly to say it- but the Rockbells hadn't deserved the disrespect of him lying to them.

So he'd stood there five years ago, and he'd told them that the children he'd taken from their home would never be coming back.

Pinako had said nothing. Winry, her hands shaking, and her blue eyes like fire, had screamed at him to get out.

He hadn't seen either of them since.

It went quiet again and Roy looked away, turning his gaze elsewhere throughout the room. Something old and tired ached in his chest, just sitting there, as his eye traveled further, and he sank a little more back into his seat. Pictures of Ed, Al, and Winry as children, pictures he'd never even seen before... pictures he almost didn't recognize, because it was just so impossible for him to imagine those three that happy and carefree now. Other ones, of Ed with the automail and Al in the armor, the ones that he knew so well. Then a few, rare others of Al back in the flesh, a younger Al, and different Al- one who walked like there was a hole by his side, a hole he was always seeking to fill...

And then, there was...

Roy's gaze stopped moving. He gulped.

And then, there was one picture, resting just off to his right, and half obscured by a vase of flowers.

A very young, very happy Winry, held in the arms of an older, blonde woman, and reaching out ecstatically to kiss an older, blue-eyed man's face.

A man and woman that he knew very, very well.

His heart lurched in sickened, sorrowful terror, and, slowly, Roy felt his gaze be drawn almost as if by force back to Pinako Rockbell.

Somehow, just like Ed had known this was something he needed to do, in that moment, Roy knew exactly what it was that _he_ had to do.

"You deserve my deepest apologies, ma'am," he murmured at last. The words came out low and earnest but unsteady, no matter how much he tried to force them to be otherwise. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to work his voice past the knot there. "For a great deal of offenses, but... I want for you to know. Your son, and his wife... I'm sorry."

Pinako stiffened, her eyes going ice cold, and Roy's heart lurched again.

"Please, don't misunderstand," he managed when he could speak again, though his voice was even unsteadier than before. "I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I know you can not give me that. I understand. But I just- want you to know that." He swallowed tightly, meeting her eyes even when everything in him begged to look away. "That's the worst decision I ever made in my life, and I never once thought what I did that day was okay. I've regretted it since the moment I pulled the trigger, and I can swear to you I will be working to try and make things right until I die."

He deserved, Roy knew, for her to throw him out then and there, just like Winry had years ago. He deserved nothing that they'd given him, and every nightmare and guiltridden ghost that had followed him in the years since. But this was something that he had to say, and that she deserved to hear. It wouldn't help her; no words could bring her son or Winry's parents back-

But surely it had to help, just a little, to know that their killer had not gone a day since without thinking of them.

It just shouldn't have taken him ten years to come back here and say it.

Pinako turned her eyes quite quickly away from him, had looked off almost the moment he'd started speaking. He could see just how much the memory pained her, no matter how well she hid it, and he kept his mouth shut this time, saying nothing more. He'd dredged up a century's worth of pain in one night, and while he deserved it all, they deserved none, and he wouldn't keep going any further. If she wanted silence, he'd give that to her.

Roy was surprised, however, when one long, suffocating minute after, Pinako spoke to him again.

"My son wrote to me once, from out there, during the war," she said quietly. The words were distant and sober, blanketed by a soft presence of pain he didn't think would ever, ever fade from her voice, Winry's eyes, or this house. "I think it was near the end, when he'd really seen the extent to what our forces were doing out there, and how wrong it was. ...He told me that the world had become three types of people, out in Ishval: the innocents being slaughtered. The monsters who slaughtered them with a smile. And... the scared kids the military had thrown out there to slaughter them too, who were too young to fight in such a war and knew it was just as wrong as he did, and only pulled the trigger because they didn't want to die themselves." She continued to look quietly out the door, watching as Winry's shoulders shook and Ed's trembling arms around her tightened, even further still- and then, with a long, heavy sigh, turned her gaze back to him.

There was old pain there. There wasn't, however, the accusation he'd been braced for.

"I think you've already proven which one of those you were," she said, nodding once at his eyepatch, "and been punished enough for it. Nothing makes it right- but nothing comes from me holding a grudge when I know my son wouldn't have, either. If my son could not hate them, and if Winry's learned to not hate you, either- then so can I, Mustang." She glanced back outside again, her gaze resting on Ed's shaking form. "Knowing what you must have done for Ed these past few months... you took care of him. You brought him back here to us. You didn't have to."

The words caught painfully in his throat again and he shook his head, stumbling over yet another apology. "Ed just- that's not- I just did the right thing; that doesn't make up-"

"Of course it doesn't make up for anything. But despite being part of the reason Winry's parents never came home, you're still the reason Ed _did._ And I can thank you for that, General." She gave him one last hard look, one that gave him no room for argument whatsoever- and then simply turned back to watch the two outside, lifting her own drink with an air of finality.

The discussion, clearly, was closed, no matter what he had to say about it.

Not quite forgiven- but not condemned anymore, either.

Something anguishing turned over in his chest, and for a terrible moment, Roy found himself too overwhelmed to say a single word.

"...Thank you, ma'am," he murmured at last, and swallowed the thickness of the words with another sip of his drink. A quick pass of his slightly trembling hand over his eye pushed the wetness away, and he swallowed tightly again, withdrawing back into silence.

_Thank you._

Pinako said nothing to him after that, leaving him to sit there in silence, surrounded by the pictures of the family he'd destroyed and their hospitality for him all at once. It was entirely overwhelming and he found himself hardpressed to keep the unsteady hitches to his breath quiet, clutching his hands tightly together and keeping his mouth locked shut as he looked around the small home again. The place that he knew, more likely than not, he was going to have leave Ed, and that soon he was going to be taking the train ride back to Central- alone. An odd, almost nauseating mix of loneliness and guilt hit him again and he bowed his head, refusing to let himself give into that. The Rockbells deserved to have Ed back, and Ed deserved to have a home. It didn't matter that he'd miss him. All that was important was that the Rockbells would get him back after so long apart and, more importantly than that, that Ed would be happy here.

That was all that mattered.

If Ed would just be happy here.

And if Ed could manage to work up the strength of will to come back here, and Roy had been able to work up the strength of will to follow and at long last face this family he'd broken, he knew that he'd be able to work up the strength of will to leave Ed here with them.

When the time came.

Another gruff sigh met his ears, and Roy jumped a little, forcibly dragging his attention away from the uncertain future and the miserable past to land on Pinako once again. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to push back the lump still making itself known there.

"You said Ed's still a State Alchemist now?" Pinako asked him, the accusing lilt back now now, her eyes narrowed. "Like before? Under you, I presume?"

Roy winced, even as his head dipped in another nod. He heard the words left unsaid, just as clearly as if she'd shouted them at him. He'd heard the _haven't you gotten enough from yet?_ and _when are you going to stop doing this to him and let him come home?_

_Haven't you taken enough from us?_

"I'm sorry," he forced out quietly, wrapping both his hands back tightly around the mug. "You have no reason to believe me, but I promise, this was the best arrangement I could work out for him. For _him-_ not for me. I have no intentions or plans to use him, or do anything at all for him, besides just what he wants himself. It's only for a year, and I promise, it won't be anything like before. Nothing dangerous at all, or anything that he doesn't want to do. I've worked it out so he can even stay here in Risembool with you, if he wants... all I want right now is what's best for him." He hesitated, biting his lip as he thought over how much he really ought to say about this just yet. "Ed didn't seem very keen on staying here before, but that might change now. He's... been terrified Winry was going to blame him."

Pinako shook her head with a soft laugh, looking back out at Ed again, and Roy couldn't help but nod back. "Believe me, I've tried to convince him otherwise. I think he even knew a little, on some level, that she wouldn't blame him, but... he just had to see it for himself." He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair as he met Pinako's eyes again. "I've told Ed that if he wants to stay with me in Central, he can. I want him to at least have that option, if staying here is too hard for him." He waved a hand, starting to muse aloud. "But I really do think he's going to want to stay here, at least for a while, now that he's seen you'll welcome him back. If you'll take him, of course...?"

The look Pinako gave him then answered the question for him without words, almost insulted, and he managed a weak laugh, nodding again. "I just want to make sure, before any decisions are made. ...It won't be like how he was before, you know... Ed's different now. He... went through a lot." He hesitated again, knowing he had to phrase this carefully, knowing how little Ed would want him to say about everything he'd been through. "He's still going to need someone to help take care of him for a little while..."

Once again, the almost insulted look Pinako gave him told him exactly how prepared for this task she was, and that she'd known that was the truth- had known it for a while now. But this time the look quickly faded into one of sorrow as she looked back out at where Ed sat with Winry, still shivering and crying together in the dark, and the slow nod she gave him back was anything but smug this time.

"...I know," she said quietly, face falling further, and it took more will than Roy wanted to admit for him to nod back.

"...Well," Roy answered at length, "assuming he does choose to stay here of course... well, it'll be really good for him, I think. A good change of scenery and being here with you two, instead of just in Central, with only me to try and help him. I think this will help him a lot. And, he'd be safer, too, if I'm being honest..."

"Safer?" Pinako interrupted sharply, her eyes narrowing again. "What do you mean, safer? I thought you just told me he wouldn't be going on any dangerous missions anymore."

"What...?" Roy blinked, then bit his lip, wincing again. "Oh- no, that's not- I didn't mean it like that. He won't be taking missions anymore; that's now how I... it's nothing," he sighed heavily; a lame finish if there had ever been one. "I'm sorry. Don't mind me. Thinking aloud." He sent a dark look at the spiked tea and pushed it away from him a little. Damn thing; he'd barely had any and there it had gone, loosening his tongue-

"You just told me it would be dangerous for Ed if he stayed with you in Central, General Mustang," Pinako cut in bitingly, her eyes flashing. "You had better explain yourself right this instant, and don't you dare sit there and act like it isn't my business. Why would it be dangerous for him there with you?!"

"I-" Roy cut himself off, shifting uncomfortably once again. _Damn it._ He really hadn't been planning on having this discussion at all with any of them yet, had wanted to wait, and give Ed at least a few days to get used to being here- and he'd _definitely_ intended to have it with Ed alone. Certainly not with Pinako Rockbell first. But the mechanic was glaring at him now, a harsh woman who'd worked with military men for decades and wasn't about to let him talk his way out of this- and who every last reason to sit there and demand an explanation from him, when it came to Ed's safety.

He sighed heavily.

This was most likely not going to end well.

"Ms. Rockbell," he began at last, hesitantly shifting forward to rest his elbows on the table, meeting her harsh, unyielding gaze once again. Best to do this carefully... "I've not told Ed any of this yet, and I'd appreciate it if you let me discuss it with him myself when the time comes. I want him to be able to decide where he wants to stay without this weighing on him. But... I've been reassigned."

"Reassigned?" she questioned sternly, eyes flashing again. "Why does that make it dangerous for Ed?"

Roy paused again.

"...Because I've been reassigned to Ishval."

There was a heavy moment of silence.

"And," he went on somberly, voice subdued in the sudden blanket of surprise that had fallen down over the entire room, "well, it's not concrete yet, I can change the assignment if I need to- if Ed needs me to. If he needs me to, I will. But... I think I'm going to go. And that's the problem, ma'am. ...Ed can't come with me. If I go, then I will have to leave him behind."

Once again, there was another heavy moment of crushing silence. Roy's heart squeezed painfully in the moment of quiet, aching as Pinako stared at him, the distress beating through him intermingled with regret so potent it hurt and a bitter truth that he hated to say. For a long few seconds there was only the ticking of the clock; neither spoke, but at last Roy swallowed and licked his dry lips, trying to begin the explanation. To say why he had to go, and why he just couldn't bring Ed with him, but that he'd change it if he had to, if Ed needed him to stay, he _would,_ but-

" _What?"_

Both Roy and Pinako jumped, jerking around in unison. The guilt already building behind his heavy words took a 180, swinging around to transform into silent shock.

Ed and Winry stood in the doorway.

Ed stared at him, mouth still open, jacket hanging limply around his shoulders and hands fallen by his sides, face flushed damp and hair disheveled but the hiccuping sobs from before gone. His eyes, reddened and sore, were still stained with grief- but now they were widened with shock.

Hurt.

_Betrayal._

Roy opened his mouth, then shut it, outstretched hand falling uselessly back down to his side.

Ed had heard every word.


	26. Hin und Zurück

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd, here it finally is. The final chapter. Wowza. Thank you all so much for reviewing and sticking with me this long! This was always a little different for me; normally I at least have some vague experience with the things I write, but I've never actually been close to anyone who's died before. So, this was a whole exploration into unknown territory for me (sorry, Al!), so it was a fun/painful struggle all the way through. Thanks for enduring it with me :) Next up is a return to more familiar territory, aka serious trauma for Ed and Roy, though I have no clue when it'll be up because my schedule is eating me alive. Seriously, I haven't even been able to pre-write any of this fic for months ;_; I'll also be posting a Hughes angst thing here in the meantime, if you wanna check that out. SEE Y'ALL NEXT TIME
> 
> Hin und Zurück: German, for "There and Back Again". (if you don't know LoTR then, my uncultured swine of an internet friend, kindly go do yourself a favor and go read/watch yourself some seriously magnificent fun :)

"Ed, please just listen to me..."

Ed whirled around mid-stampede away from him, hair spinning wildly around him in the wind as he jerked to point at him with one shaking hand. "You lied to me."

"It's not what you think-" Roy tried to plea, earnestly taking another step after him, but Ed wasn't hearing it.

"You _lied_ to me. Again!" He stumbled backwards another few steps, backpedaling into the night while Roy again chased after him, following each step away with one of his own forwards. "You said I could stay in Central! You said I didn't have to come here if I didn't want to! And then you just- just- _lied! Again!"_

" _Ed!"_ Roy shouted after him again, pale and almost stricken in the night. "I know what I said, and I know why you're angry, but will just let me explain?! _Please?_ Ed-"

Ed pushed his reaching hand back with an angry growl, feeling almost like a cornered animal in a trap and hating himself because of it. He already knew he'd feel pathetic for this later, reacting so vulnerably like this, but right now he didn't care. Right now he was angry as fuck, and Roy, the cause of it, was right there in front of him. He wanted to punch him again. "You bastard," he snapped, and somehow, when Roy didn't even attempt a protest, his anger was provoked even hotter. The god damn bastard- how could he stand there like that, not even fighting back or trying to defend himself?! That just- just made it fucking _harder-_

But Roy didn't say or do a single thing in his own defense. "I know," was all he said, just nodding calmly,this time standing his ground when Ed drew another step back no matter how much he seemed to want to follow, and his fury blazed red hot at the almost despairing acceptance in his lone eye. "I've been told, and many times at that. Will you at least let me explain why I'm not as bad as you seem to think, Ed? Come on, please... haven't you learned by now I'm really trying hard _not_ to screw you over here?" he cajoled gently, voice low and just a hint persuasive- almost pleading. "You trust me at least that much, right?"

Ed nearly growled again, heart pounding so hard and hot, wounded betrayal coursing through him so fast he could barely even make himself stop and think. Pretentious prick. Smug, pretentious, always right _prick._

Yeah, Roy- Roy had not really done _anything_ to make him react like this. Yeah, he knew that. Could even reluctantly admit it, somewhere beneath the rage and hurt clouding his fucked up brain. As much of a manipulative bastard as he was, Roy was pretty clearly only trying to help him here. He'd more than proved that by now- even if Ed was just a little fucking _mad_ at the moment to care about logic and reason like that now.

None of that, however, changed what he'd just overheard.

Ed clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut as he glared back at Roy in silence, demanding an explanation. His fists were clenched and his heart was still pounding, a shaky, insecure instinct fluttering through him with every breath- but Ed made himself stand still and glare at the eyepatch instead, and remember everything that _Roy_ had done for him, Roy and not Rainart, and remember that this Roy, at least, he _did_ trust. He'd more than earned that much, and this one, he could make himself stand still and listen to.

His breaths, short and loud in the darkness, sounded almost frantic, and the silence that then expanded between was anything but peaceful.

And Roy, after several hesitant moments spent just watching him, remaining eye wide with earnest, honest sincerity and sympathy, finally lowered his hand, took a deep breath, and began.

"Everything I told you before was true, Ed. If you don't want to stay here, you don't have to. If you truly want me to stay back here with you, then I can, and will, no questions asked. I've already talked with Riza about it, and she's agreed she can take the move east for me and lead things in Ishval while I coordinate back here." He broke off for a moment to just watch Ed silently, eye imploring the truth of the words into him, the look on his face calm and reassuring and just everything that he needed no matter how much his instincts screamed it wasn't true. "All right?" he asked gently, taking a small step forward again. "If you need somewhere to stay that isn't here, I can still be that for you." He went still again for several moments, the look on his face indescribable, almost as if he was waiting for Ed to say something- but he still found himself wordless, throat tight and mouth dry and all words robbed from his mind against the vise squeezing around his chest. Everything about this still just felt too precarious, the dangerous place he'd been standing for months suddenly disintegrating before his eyes and leaving him with nothing to move to and nothing to go back to and something in him, in that instant, was just deathly, unspeakably _terrified_ that Roy really was going to Ishval and not coming back.

"You said... you were going, though," he finally choked out, trembling on the spot. "I heard you! That's- w-what you said, in there. You said you were going!"

Roy winced slightly, pale and still in the darkness. The earnest look on his face faded into one of regret.

Slowly, he averted his eye, and that was all he needed to do for Ed to hear the truth.

"...Yes," the general said at last, reluctance emanating through every bit of the single, quiet, damming word. "I don't have to leave, but, I want to, Ed. I'm not going to lie... I do really want this, and if it was just me and my men, then we... we'd already be gone."

Panic again whiplashed through him, choking out a second breath as he stumbled backwards again and shook his head violently, every bit of the home he had in Central disappearing before his eyes and once again, because this was _always_ how it happened, leaving him with nowhere to go because everyone was _gone._ "I can come with you then!" he cried frantically, raising an almost desperate hand. "You have to go to Ishval, I know, I get it, I understand- I can just come with you, you don't-"

But Roy was already shaking his head, seeming only to remain standing still through sheer force of will alone. "No, Ed, you can't. I won't allow it."

"W-well- well fuck you, then!" he gasped, breathing even harder now and fighting to crush down yet another surge of anger. "I can come! I-"

"Ed, you're not coming with me here- listen to me for a second, okay? Ed?" Roy broke off for another moment, as if waiting to make sure he was actually listening; when Ed couldn't manage to find the words from his desperation, splintering core to interrupt again the general went on, gesturing emphatically into the night. "Riza and I are not well-loved figures there. We have a few friends, but by and large, the Ishvallan people want us dead. Us showing up there in military uniform, claiming we're trying to rebuild, is not going to change that. It's not a battlefield anymore, but it's still unstable and we are going to count ourselves lucky if the least of what we go through is getting shot at. We're disclosing to anyone who chooses to come out there that working with us means putting a target on their heads for any Ishvallans who want us gone. If you came, that'd include you, Ed."

" _So?!"_ he spat back, still shaking. He just couldn't stop shaking. "You think I don't know what warzones are like?! I just spent the last five years _living_ in one! I don't care if it's dangerous; I'm coming with you, you bastard!"

Roy said nothing for a long moment, just looking at him. Again, his pale face was unreadable in the faint light, looking almost stricken, and this silence was just as thick and oppressive as the last.

"I know you don't care if it's dangerous for you, Ed," he said quietly at last. His voice went even lower. "But, I do."

Another harsh breath left him, almost painful in its vehemence, and once again took any words he'd had with it. Ed clenched his jaw again, shivering violently, then just tore his eyes away, glaring and blinking desperately anywhere but at him.

"...It's not permanent," Roy went on after another long stretch of silence, but his voice was weak this time, sounding like a bandaid over a gunshot wound. "If I do go, if you don't want for me to stay- even then, it's not permanent, Ed. Right now, I can do the most to help them if I'm actually in Ishval, helping to rebuild and put together what we took apart. Someday, that won't be true. Someday I'll be more of use back in Central, getting support for them, passing legislation- anything I can do to try and help them. I'm not going to Ishval forever, Ed. I'll come back home eventually. And... really, that's only if you don't ask for me to stay... I _will_ if you need me to, I promise..." he tried to say, but the argument just fell flat and pathetic to Ed's ears when all he could hear was that he _was_ going.

Just like everyone always did. Every single time he found a home, every single time he ever found _something_ approaching a life he could live, something safe and livable and permanent-

Everyone always left.

Something of it must have shown on his face because Roy dropped his weak, tentative smile barely a moment after, seeming to realize his words just weren't working. The general sighed deeply and looked away, dropping heavily to sit on the steps behind him in an almost dejected slump, hands clasped tightly together and head down, looking as if he was still trying to find something, anything to say-

But there wasn't. Because what this was was that Roy was going to Ishval, and he wasn't.

Didn't matter that it wasn't supposed to be permanent, because he knew well how shit like _that_ turned out. Sure, leaving Risembool hadn't meant to be permanent either, and yet here he was ten years later, Al not even with him anymore and no idea if he could even face coming back here ever again. For all he knew Roy and Hawkeye would end up getting themselves blown up in Ishval and oops, there it was- that was it.

Didn't matter that Roy was telling him that if asked to stay, he would. Ed wasn't an idiot. He knew Roy wanted this more than anything else- had been working for it even longer than Ed had been working to get Al his body back. He wasn't a fucking child, either. He _wanted_ Roy to stay- but he wasn't going to sit here and beg and cry and make him drop everything he'd been working so hard for just because it was what _he_ wanted. Roy was trying to give it to him as a choice, but it just wasn't one. He could never do that. He was tired of pulling everyone down with him and tired of hurting the people he cared about, and he _was not_ going to be reason Roy threw away everything he'd worked for. He'd hurt him enough already and wasn't going to let himself do it again.

Which, of course, left only one way for this to end.

Another bitterly cold, fucking unfair wind gusted through the dark silence. Ed shivered, glaring harder at the ground, and kept silent.

At last, just unable to bear it any longer, Ed just crossed his arms tightly and turned away. He tried, for a long, painful moment, to just to stop _shaking._ It didn't work at all, but he hoped it was at least a little less obvious as he ducked his head, trying to shield his expression with his hair. Maybe if Roy couldn't at least _see_ how vulnerable and pathetic he looked, this wouldn't be quite as bad.

The general didn't say anything, though, and somehow, Ed got the feeling Roy hated this just as much as he did.

"I thought you said they never gave you anything important to do," he muttered finally, a weak, last ditch effort at maintaining normalcy. His voice _almost_ cracked, he could feel it in his throat, but he clenched his fists and refused to let it.

"...They don't," Roy said quietly. A soft note of sour bitterness entered his voice, bitterness, not at him, but at the other generals all back in Central. "That's why they gave this post to me in the first place. No one wanted it."

There was another dark silence, and in it, Ed heard, once again, that he couldn't do anything except let Roy go.

It was his only choice, wasn't it? If Roy didn't go, no one would. The general who went instead would be someone else, someone else who didn't care about rebuilding Ishval, the same kind of soldier they'd had in charge of it for years and nothing would change, ever. And Ed wanted to hate himself for it, but he just couldn't _not_ care. He'd had nothing to do with Ishval, the war or the people now left stranded and without a home, but he'd seen them in Germany every day. It was people like them that Al had refused to leave Germany for when war had broken out- because they'd been able to help. It was people like them they'd both risked their lives for over and over again and it was the one thing about that place he couldn't bring himself to regret because he knew Al would, if given the chance, just make the same choices again- and Ed would follow him in it. That much, at least, he knew.

And he knew he couldn't make a different choice now, and keep Roy here with him when Ishval needed him more. When Roy needed Ishval more.

Ed swallowed tightly, shutting his eyes and refusing to allow himself to show it on his face. No. He could do this. He was fine. He could handle this. Couldn't he? Roy had done more than enough for him, by this point; he'd put his life on hold for months, he'd followed him out here, he'd put up with him for so long when in all rights he should've just been thrown out on the street. Roy had spent the last half a year taking care of him when he'd gotten zilch out of it. And now, all Roy was asking to do was be able to pick up his life again and do something _besides_ keep Ed from dissolving into a fucking mess.

And what was he even complaining about, anyway? It wasn't like Roy was leaving him fucking homeless; he had a place, right here! Roy had gotten him this new research position with the military, and he'd taken him back here, he'd given him a life again where he could make things work- so what that half of him was desperate to run from all the memories of this place, so what if he was still half-terrified of facing Winry inside again and the questions that were supposed to follow, so what if he was terrified of when she realized how different and changed he was and when she'd be expecting him to be someone that he just _wasn't_ anymore? So what that he still wanted to run away? There were a whole bunch of people out there a hell of a lot worse than him, and he didn't hear them complaining. This was fine. This was just how things happened. Roy was going to leave, and Ed was going to stay here, and they'd both be fine. He _wasn't_ going to fall apart, because he'd spent the last half a year falling apart now and he was _sick and tired_ of it.

He wasn't a mess anymore. He didn't need to be taken care of anymore. He was on his two feet again, and it was only thanks to Roy that he'd made it at all. The very least that he could do now back for him was just be a fucking adult about this, grit his teeth, and do it.

"...Fine," he muttered at last. The word came out harder and colder than he'd really meant it to, but at the moment, he just couldn't manage anything else. "That's fine. I understand. Why you have to do this, I mean. I won't stop you. You can go."

"...Ed..."

"I _said_ it's fucking fine! I get it, okay?! It's _fine!"_

"...Listen-"

Ed spun back to face him fully, once again jabbing a shaking hand at him even as Roy started to rise, plaintive and earnest again even with his face stricken with misery. "I know you have to go- I'm not going to be the thing that keeps you here. You've done enough for me already! I _get it,_ so you don't need to try and convince me to be all fucking happy about it because I'm not going to be- but I get it! I know why you have to go, and I won't stop you! So just- just _shut up_ about it, okay?!"

Roy jerked away from him again, blinking and wincing like he'd been struck by the hoarse shout that echoed over the utterly empty fields. He was shivering even harder in the cold air now as he slowly drew his arms around himself, once again slumping a little, guilt and silent apology twisting his mouth into a miserable, silent forown. He looked as reluctant as ever and this time, Ed really fucking struggled to have any sympathy. Already Ed was trying not to yell at him some more, because he _did_ understand it, he did get why Roy had to do this- but just understanding it didn't mean he was okay with it.

It didn't mean he was okay with being left behind here alone.

Again.

"...Ed, please," Roy begged again, still gentle with him, still calm, still trying to be whatever he needed no matter how much he didn't deserve it. "Just listen to me for a moment, will you?"

"I've already fucking _listened,"_ he snapped viciously. Still couldn't stop _shaking._ Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to just be out of here, away from _everyone,_ but he knew Roy wouldn't let him head off by himself if he tried so instead he tried to storm past him, headed towards inside and hoping Roy at least wouldn't follow him there. "S-so- so, if you don't _mind,_ I'm just gonna-"

Roy caught his arm just as he tried to stomp past, pale fingers flickering out so fast to grab him they were almost a blur. Ed jumped at the sudden, tight grip around his wrist and swallowed a yelp, trying to yank away on reflex alone even as he spat out a curse- but Roy didn't give him even a moment's time to try and get away before he started talking again.

"The reason I'm doing this at all is because I don't deserve what I have now, and I know it. I don't deserve to be able to stay back here and enjoy what life I have now with Riza, and my team, and Gracia, and- and you, Ed. I love what I have now, but I don't deserve it. The only way I can ever earn that is to go back to Ishval and try to make things right again. I've known that for a while. I've accepted that." His grip tightened a little, pulling Ed a stumbled step closer as Roy turned to face him again, looking down at him again, and Ed suddenly had to suppress a gasp at the look on his face.

It was strangely pained, something so pale and drawn he almost couldn't stand to meet his eye. It wasn't something he'd ever seen on Roy before, a thing that reminded him like a punch to the gut that he wasn't the only one this was hard for. It'd be almost easier, if it was- but Ed could see right there on his face how much Roy didn't want to do this. He wasn't the only one who didn't want this to happen, and as angry as he wanted to be, that knowledge was enough to temper it into misery instead.

Because neither of them wanted it, but that didn't change the fact that that it was going to happen anyway.

"But, Ed," Roy went on, almost unsteadily now, the pained look in his eye so clear and powerful once again he almost flinched, equal parts driven to look away and yet still somehow transfixed. "You're different. Okay? You do deserve that chance. You _have_ at least earned the right to have a home. So I'm being serious when I say if you want me to stay, I will. I'm not lying- it won't be easy, but I can coordinate things from here or East City. I'd probably be gone a lot, and I'd be at work more than before, and I'd probably still go to Ishval for a few months, but- but if you want me to, I'll stay. I'll stay, and I won't resent you for it. I _promise,_ Ed."

"...But you don't _want_ to."

The pain pressed into his remaining eye somehow grew even bigger, almost overwhelming him as his face twisted again. Roy couldn't deny it. And even if he'd tried, Ed would've known it was a lie.

"...This isn't about what I want," he answered finally, voice weak and unsteady again, but that was all the answer that Ed needed.

He looked away, swallowing the tiny protest still locked in his throat, the part of him that wanted to just shut the rest of his mind off and take this chance and tell him to _stay._ That was the same part of him that even now begged for his brother to just come _back._ That was the same part of him that had drawn that circle with Al and tried to bring their mother back. That was the part of him that wanted too much, needed too much... and hurt too much, because of it.

He needed to let go of it all. He needed, for once in his life, to step back, and just let go of what he couldn't have.

Carefully, when he could manage to do it without shaking, Ed withdrew his arm from Roy's grip. One by one, he extricated the cold fingers off his arm, then took one firm, final step away. "Apparently not," he returned back, just as quietly. "But it shouldn't be just about what I want, either."

Once again, the look on Roy's face was almost as if he'd been slapped.

Once again, he knew, Roy understood just as well as he did exactly how this was going to end up.

This time, Ed was the one to walk away, dragging himself away from the general's stock still form to sit limply back down on the porch steps, head in his freezing hands. Roy didn't follow him this time, remaining standing away in the darkness, back to him, a stark black and white figure that didn't even shiver when the wind cut through once again, and Ed sighed, dragging his gaze back down to the dirt again.

"...I am sorry, Ed. For... all of this. If there was any other way... I'm sorry, Ed."

He shook his head slowly, somehow feeling too exhausted and defeated to respond back with the biting remark that he usually would have. He heard the heavy sincerity in the mournful words. He knew it was true, and it somehow just fucking _hurt._

"There's no reason for that," he mumbled back, eyes still on the ground. "This is just how shit turned out. We don't have to like it but that doesn't make it your fault." He hesitated for a moment, drawing into himself a little bit more. "...I should be thanking you, really. For making me come back here."

Roy paused again; out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw him stiffen. "I thought you hated it here," he murmured, sounded a little startled- and, still quiet with barely subdued pain and regret. "You... didn't really seem all the inclined to stay..."

Ed made himself shake his head, sinking even more into himself. It was all just more than he wanted to think about now, but he knew he'd been more angry at being lied to- not because he'd been able to carry it that far and realize it meant he was almost definitely staying here. "I don't _hate_ it," he fired back, more on reflex than anything else, then just sighed. "I don't know. It's... I haven't been here long enough to really know, yet." He just barely stopped himself from turning to look back at Winry and Pinako, still inside, probably alarmed and unsettled out of their minds after everything that had happened tonight. It wasn't as horrible as he'd been dreading it to be, no. But who knew how things would be, when they were settled? He knew it was going to be hard, and painful, being here like this... all the memories of this place... all the adjusting they'd all have to do to achieve anything even approaching normalcy...

When they asked him what really happened to Al...

"I don't know if I want to stay," he murmured finally. "But... I know I can't run from here, at least until I've tried it." He hesitated, again fighting with the agonizing lump swelling in his throat. "Al's... not coming back. I can't keep trying to run away from here just because he's not going to ever be here waiting. And he wouldn't want me to, either. I have to at least try to stay. So... so, I'm going to. And if doesn't work out, I..." He trailed off for a moment, swallowing thickly. What _would_ he do, if staying here just ended up being too much and he had to get away? Roy... Roy wouldn't be an option, anymore, and...

Once again, Ed vehemently shook his head to himself, forcing himself to stop before he could panic again. He owed it to Roy to be able to keep it together better than this, after how much he'd done to try and help him. He owed it to Al, to actually pick up his feet and keep moving on, no matter how hard it got. If he couldn't stay here, and if Roy was in Ishval, that was okay. He'd find something, somewhere. He always did. He wouldn't run away again, either. He wouldn't leave Winry in the dark this time, he wouldn't disappear and make Roy have to drop everything again to come back and find him- no matter what happened, he could do this. He wasn't going to run away from the people that he still had this time, and he wasn't going to fall apart anymore. He _would_ do this, because he had to.

Not just for Al, anymore, either, he realized, with an almost anguishing sense of reluctance. Not just for Winry or Roy. He had to do it for himself, too. If he kept trying to do things just because it was what his brother would've wanted, he would never stop.

He wouldn't let Al go- _never._ With every fiber of his being, with his entire heart and soul, Ed knew that he would _never_ let Al go, and he would always love him just as much as the very day that he'd died. He knew he was going to be pulling himself through the agonizing pain of his loss every single day for the rest of his life.

But... he had to live for himself, too. Or he never would get out of Germany and find a life and home here again.

Which, after all, was all that Al would've wanted for him.

"...I'll be fine," Ed said quietly, and was proud of himself when he managed to keep it steady at last. There was a painful lack of conviction, though, and he said it again, this time with his brother in his mind's eye, reminding himself over and over again that he could do this, because it was what Al would've wanted for him, and now, it was what he had to want for himself. "I will." He chanced another glance at Roy's back, slowly pushing his face into another weak little smile. "Like... like you said, it's not permanent, anyway, right? Either you'll come back here, or I'll follow you out to Ishval and find work out there, just to bug you." He smiled weakly again, even managing to chuckle, but when Roy didn't respond in the slightest, his smile slipped away, trembling until it fell apart, and with it went any semblance of the pathetic levity in his voice. "But, for now, I... I think this just seems like something we both have to do."

Roy had to go to Ishval for his past. Ed hadn't been there in the civil war, and really didn't know all that much about it, but he did understand and could at least accept that much. He truly believed Roy when the man said he didn't have a choice. But as hard as it was, Ed knew he needed to do this, too. Just like Roy had to go back to Ishval to try and forge a new way into the rest of his life, one he could finally truly live with, Ed knew he had to face his past here and everything he couldn't bear to remember or relive so he could try and make a path into his own future.

They both had to do this. And, with a deep, trembling breath, Ed told himself that he _would_ do this. For Al, and for himself.

It was the only choice he had.

"You're... you're always doing this, you know," he ventured weakly, and his voice was unsteady all over again as he looked back at Roy. Somehow he'd ended up smiling again, but it felt even more broken than his words. "You've made me do a lot of things now, things I didn't really want to do but that I had to. ...Really. Thanks."

Roy finally responded, shaking his head slowly even though he still hadn't turned back to face him. "I didn't-" he started, voice low and cracking.

"No, you did," Ed cut back in smoothly. "You've done a whole lot for me that you really didn't have to. That no one else would've done for me. That if you hadn't done, I'd... really probably be dead by now. I know I wouldn't be anywhere near here, or... even close to... to, happy." He clenched his jaw again, trying for a moment to force his voice back into something steady again, then just gave up on the fight and let something weak crack into it. "And, this- I understand why you have to do it. I do. And it's really something that I should... should probably do, too. Like I said, in the long run, this'll probably be good for the both of us. We'll both be fine." He swallowed tightly again, hands clenching together, and fought hard against the exhausted, agonizing throb of his heart. "...S-so, just... just don't do your usual thing, and ruin it by apologizing or guilting about it or anything, and then... then we'll just be all good. Everything... everything'll be... fine."

For a beat of silence, there was no answer.

Then, in one smooth motion, Roy turned back around, a pale, uncompromising figure in the black night, swept back over to him, and pulled him forwards into a tight hug before Ed could do anything more than blink.

The hands grasping his shoulders were freezing, but it took Ed a moment to realize that wasn't why they were shaking.

"...Idiot," he mumbled, and at first it actually did sound strong and like he had it together but his next breath, a tiny gasp that broke in the middle, just ruined it completely, and he knew Roy had heard it, too, when his arms tightened. "I t-told you not t-to- to ruin it like this..."

Roy coughed out a grating, broken laugh, pressing him even tighter against him. "You have no idea how much I'm... going to miss you, Ed."

"I t-told you, quit _ruining_ it," he groaned, because he _wasn't_ going to fucking cry, then pressed his face against a fold in the man's jacket and hid his eyes in the fabric. "You're _supposed_ to say you're g-gonna- gonna put me in your suitcase or something, because I'm short enough to fit, and- and-..."

Roy managed a laugh again, one still faintly trembling hand lifting to ruffle his hair. "Would it make you feel better if I did?"

"...No, b-but..." He worked his mouth for a moment, trying to say something, _anything_ helpful, but then the words just fell apart into nothingness and Ed just gave up, shutting his eyes and face still hidden in the warm jacket. He felt Roy clutch him even closer, the hand on his shoulder grasping spasmodically tight, and Ed hiccuped through what was almost the start of a sob as he dragged an arm up to embrace him back.

"...I'll be fine," he promised weakly at all, but with all the sincerity he could muster. "I- I will. I really will. ...I'll be okay."

"...I know you will." There was another short pause, Roy's hands alternately clutching him tighter and trembling even harder, and when he heard the already unsteady breaths above him break he just kept his face hidden, not wanting to see it.

"...Thank you, Ed," Roy told him at last, and he could hear from the man's voice just how hard he was trying to keep his voice steady, too. "I mean that. Really. For... for all of... just..." Roy sighed weakly, hand squeezing even tighter, then just shook his head. "Thank you."

And Ed found himself with nothing to say or do except just hug him back tighter.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For the people!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838731) by [tikosleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikosleep/pseuds/tikosleep)




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